Purgatory

Purgatory

I am in the waiting place

Somewhere between the worst of me

And the hopeful glory

All the wrongs that I have wronged

Burn my flesh in anguish

Surely, there must be some good in me

But the checkerboard floor bears my reflection better than I

There is a couch and a couple of leather chairs

Which entice one to sit and relax the time away

Lest for the tacks that remind one that this is a place of pain

Below the room, beneath the tile

Demons with nine-inch nails

Claw against the roof of their glass ceiling

Their silently screaming faces

Remind me of the Munch painting on the wall

If only Edvard could hear the nails, maybe then he would come rescue me

Oh, why am I here

I thought I was good enough

I thought that you loved me

Enough to open your heart and share a part of yourself with me

The phone in the corner is as useless as I feel

Its rotary style reminds me of the times I used to call my father

To pick me up from grade school

I ease my way onto the chair next to a modern side table

I dial the operator

Who says that your number has been disconnected

Or that you are unavailable

Or that I could leave you a message

Hopelessly, I wrap the phone cord around my wrist

Its extra curls do not suffocate me or cut off my circulation

Unfortunately

I am stuck here, to live, but not to die

I am in the waiting place, the atoning place, the middle ground

For I am neither fit for heaven

Nor fit for hell