There is Nothing after the Black

When I say the word “Atheist” in a room full of thirty,
I like to watch them squirm in their seats,
uncomfortable with the idea that
we exist.

Raised a Catholic,
it wasn’t something I accepted,
no questions asked,
(no shame,
no fear).

There w[as]ere plenty.

It was a gradual process,
beginning with transubstantiation,
and ending with insomniac nights,
trying to slow the pounding in my chest,
out of fear that I’m going to die.

I kept trying to imagine what it would be like
to not exist,
in the sense that my entire consciousness
will come to a halt,
and I will be nowhere.

I got to black, but I couldn’t go further;

there is nowhere to go, from there.

When Everyone Else had Lunchables

I still don’t know why
you ate the prongs of your plastic fork tonight,
and I probably never will,

but perhaps,
just maybe,

it was for the very same reason
that I ate a paper bag when I was eight,
(though I still don’t know why I did it).