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The Catalyst Has Called

by Mirabelle Skipworth

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1.
Rat in a Hat 03:38
Where is the world? I’ve been waiting here. Is it too broken to name myself fear? Am I a stranger in my chosen home? Is it rain and thunder or just the steps below? I wore a hat and I called it a day. I’d rather be a rat then say what I needed for you to hear. I’ll paint you a picture, just lend me some of your blood. I’ll hang it in your attic, above your favorite rug. Then when I am finished, I’ll pray to your unseen God. And hope it is plenty, to receive your endless love. I wore a hat and I called it a day. I’d rather be a rat then say what I needed for you to hear. I feel like I’m home. Is this my home? Are you home? Isn’t this your home? Are you alone?
2.
I wish I had known you better, but you were someone else's friend. Is it vain for me to start crying, and then soundly find myself asleep in bed? Stick your hand from the grave Shake mine firmly to cure my shame. I’ve learned to feast on what wasn’t mine. Were hollowed/hallowed, was your conscience right? I wish you were more than a passing thought, I’d put your picture on the mantle. Side by side with my two late dogs, and a cousin I barely knew when he was alive. Stick your hand from the grave Shake mine firmly to cure my shame. I’ve learned to feast on what wasn’t mine. Were hollowed/hallowed, was your conscience right? Saw what happened from the paper, it was on page five. I wish I hadn’t eaten breakfast, but I did, with your name sitting close beside. Stick your hand from the grave Shake mine firmly to cure my shame. I’ve learned to feast on what wasn’t mine. Were hollowed/hallowed, was your conscience right? How sweet, how beautiful. How far, how untouched. How pure, how perfect. Your name, what’s your… Stick your hand from the grave Shake mine firmly to cure my shame. I’ve learned to feast on what wasn’t mine. Were hollowed/hallowed, was your conscience right? I wish I had known you better, but you were someone else's friend.
3.
Twenty-Two 05:18
I am encircled by the violent sight Of all the creatures that call me their prey. Someone left the light off, I am dried up And the wax has melted down inside of me. “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” My God, My God, have you forgotten me? Am I merely a worm, who’s forgotten how to be a man- scorned and despised? Will they all just mock me, will they talk me down and out of your grasp? “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” My God, My God, have you forgotten me? I can count all my bones, while people gloat and divide all the things I wore on my skin. Is this sin? Is this sin? Is this sin? Is this sin? “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” My God, My God, have you forgotten me? We will proclaim his righteousness.
4.
Door Stop 04:17
The shades were all closed, I was petrified of seeing a face in the mirror that wasn’t mine. Ten days ago, I was dreaming in bed about how people lived before they fell dead. Leave it all closed, the catalyst has called. It’s set off a maze, an amazing work of art. Be quiet, my eyes are closed, but I still see faces. They curse my itchy head and know where my mind went. Down a rabbit hole, a hole that never stops. Unless you open the door, where emotions finally equal my thoughts. Leave it all closed, the catalyst has called. It’s set off a maze, an amazing work of art. If the lights turn out, a man will suddenly enter, But sleeping when it's bright, I’m sorry, doesn’t work either. The door stop! I know! The door stop! It’s letting everything get in. Does it know I have enough to worry about? Don’t let me become desperate. Leave it all closed, the catalyst has called. It’s set off a maze, an amazing work of art. Painted in the dark... How foolish of me.
5.
My vices don’t wake me up politely. They make sure I’m dazed and then delight in me. They all say “repent”, but I’m not sure if it works. Am I earnest enough? Do I even wanna learn? So I’m going wayward meandering, Don’t worry, I’ll be back eventually. Do my actions have purpose, am I supposed to figure it out? They say the bells are ringing loudly, but I don’t hear their sounds. Has my prayer become static? Has my faith become weak? Would I know a divine voice, if I heard Him speak? So I’m going wayward meandering, Don’t worry, I’ll be back eventually. Are my feet too weak to walk? Are my hands grasping the air? Does it hurt me even more if I just pretend that I care? When my steps lead me outward, is it for the right reasons? Will I find something worth having? Or at least worth believing? So I’m going wayward meandering, Don’t worry, I’ll be back eventually. So I’m going wayward meandering, Don’t worry, I’ll be back... hopefully. Hopefully, hopefully, is there hope for me?

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released April 30, 2020

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Mirabelle Skipworth Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

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