Sometimes, when it's been a really long time, I peel the skin back to see if you're still hurting me in there.

You take my breath away like a sucker punch and so I sit down hard. And then I can't help but remember you in a flood.

I wrap my hand around my head,
 wonder if it gets better,
  think that it cannot.

This is what skin is for: to cover up everything but this shaky smile and these doubting eyes.

Maybe one day I'll believe in God. And then maybe I'll believe that you believed, too.

Wouldn't that be nice?