Fake Flowers

Mistaken adoration makes my stomach weak.

Claims of goodness follow lies between piano keys.

Consume all righteous credit and call it humility.

For two hours be the person I pretend to be.

Their flattery feeds my self-loathing.

Bubbling beneath my smile,

My lips threaten the truth.

I’m a liar.

I don’t know this god.

But divorce from perfection would hurt.

I’ve let time wander too long in disillusionment.

Go on self,

Smile and nod!

Testify!

Sing songs of holiness amid an aching conscience!

You’re their false hope for the church’s future.

The fake flowers by the pulpit.