What the actual hell?

In a moment, my world is crumbling.

Drowning in horrible dreams.

They said they found red clothes hidden under the Tree.

Some bad sign.

In Sister’s dreams ,I was clutching the clothes and calling her name.

Dream again, I say.

I whisper my confusion to Mother who betrays.

Who cuts my hair in tears and packs the pieces to a hidden corner.

I am dragged to kneel and talk, to confess.

Dad’s cheeks are fallen, his raspy voice is over the phone.

Over my head, over my soul that swirls into nothingness.

Pastor, the other twin. Prayers…”

I am sucking in the air for salvation, nodding to invisible hope.

The Pastor is here to save and starts with the oil that I don’t need.

My head is already slippery with evil spirits.

I am dizzy and nauseous.

I fall heavily, shaking in fits.

I surprise myself, I with the indifferent cloud.

Me who religion could not pinch, not when my twin died.

Not when I saw graves opened in visions.

Not when I saw Mother mourning in black, in an open space.

Begging my twin to return.

But I bleed now, crying a flood.

The Holy book is pushed into my eyes, and I see Mary weeping with me.

Wringing her hands.

In a distance, somewhere…

my mind is playing the songs from childhood.

I double up in pain.

My hair, cut. My drums, torn.

But Pastor whispers how this must be done again.

How unrepentant I am.

What the actual hell?

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