The hurts from church.
She couldn’t sleep for the hurts from church.
Splinters had dug deep from where her nails made skin weep.
She didn’t believe in herself.
She was in deep.
She sat stoney eyed amidst a hundred sheep who’s pain collide.
He stood in the pulpit.
Prompting their suicide unknowingly.
Another puppet of a mediocre society.
That night after prayer and hymn, evening song and lashing, the damn burst.
She grabbed a pen and started to write.
“I couldn’t sleep for the hurts of church”