Prayer Stones Piled like Cannonballs

[I follow the stones on the path
that God has created for me
never straying,
staying strong.]

But feeling like Job who walks on slippery, moss covered rocks.
And on the days that I am challenged beyond my means of survival-
For some reason,
I always come out
with rose pedals clenched between my teeth
in a flowery victory over
knives and guns and cocaine lines
(never ending lines,)
on mirrored tables
calling to me from curled up $100 bills
still laced with the bitter taste
that was sniffed through it
only hours ago.
And I wonder if my tongue
would relish or abhor the taste now,
18 hours later.

Do I need to be fed
or can I wait another day or two before eating
what everyone tells me is good for me.
Bible verses and holy water
fed intravenously
through needles and tubes
attached to my sticky heart
and poked into my gut
for fear of losing life in a quick and
(always meaningless)
ending.

And I pray-
(to no one in particular)
that I will someday hear the voice
(not the one inside my head that torments me)
but a voice that will soothe me.
A voice that is louder than thunder,
stronger than the hungry waters of deaths' water-fall,
but as peaceful as a sleeping baby
who is yet untainted
by all of this.