talking to myself

I find I'm talking to myself more often these days
No one else to talk to
So I like to pretend
I'm talking to God
I call it "praying"
But I still think I'm crazy
Because I know that I'm the only one who can hear me
The things I say
No God would tolerate without some semblance of repentance
I have none
Not because I don't think I should
I should
It's just that I'm too far gone for that, knowing well the only repentance I ever knew got tossed out like a baby with bath water within days
Sometimes hours
Sometimes minutes
So if it's repentance God requires
I'm afraid
He'll have to look for it elsewhere
All I have for Him is a sharp tongue
A madman's babbling prayer
A conversation of one
A criticism and a forgiving, both exaggerated, neither meaning
A Goddamn thing
I try to convince myself that it's the SuperSoul doing all the talking, that I'm listening in, eavesdropping on a party, someone else's house where I'm not supposed to be
It takes more convincing than I'm capable of
Because I'm struck mute
When the Holy Spirit speaks
My rational mind shuts down each and every suggestion that
I may be a vessel
I've always believed that my body is a vessel
What troubles me, though
Is to know
That so
Is my soul