I’ve only ever seen god in a poem (9/30)

Poems don’t last long enough for me
So I try to make them run on
I am nothing but a run on
Sentence
Searching for a period to put an end to all these open ended questions

I have no subject
No predicate
No verb
I am nothing but a question mark
Standing before god
Quivering
Broken into pieces
Speaking in tongues
Hang me upside down
And I dangle out the corner of his mouth by the hook of a comma
Deprived of structure
I am nothing but a fragmented sentence my innards scattered about the universe

I know you can you hear me tiptoeing across ugly adjectives beautifully as I fondle in darkness trying to find pieces of myself within silent suicidal stanzas that never seem speak back to me
They are just like you

I am trying to get to you
Can I join you?
I just want to be close to you
Wherever you are
But I think you’re mostly likely at the tip of my pen
Or the gravity that smashes my words against blank spaces
Because I’ve only ever seen, heard, touched, tasted, or felt you in a poem

And that’s why I keep writing them
Poems send me to heaven
Each and everytime
I swear they do

I try to write my poems with the least amount of punctuation and as many words as I can push out of the womb of my imagination
Because I truly believe that one day I will cork up all my nothingness with frozen stanzas pregnant with the volume of those words
They will help me inflate and float into the palms of your hands
You will hug me atop floating stanzas
I will clog up the bullet holes in my heart with all these leftover commas
Before I bleed onto the pages of this notebook
I am the pages of this notebook
I will be happy

You will hear these poems scream
Even if I don’t say a word before I die
They will speak for me.

I hope my words have enough buoyancy to deliver me to you when there aren’t any more words left and all I can do is scribble a period onto the end of my sentence
My journey will be over then
And this you will know.