Adam's Garden

the liar was me, and i could not feel his face, nor his misshapen abdomen, but i could feel what i needed, and i needed, very much, to be alive and present, and here, in this room, in this place, i could not feel love nor satisfaction, just the vindictive nightmare of my own inadequacy, the lit night beneath me, the focused man in my head, shouting at me, calling me a priest, labeling me a savior, but beneath the orders, beneath the compulsive lying, and the gambling and the drinking and the drinking and the drinking, was a man.  just a plain, tired, lonely man, seeking help, looking to me, his brother, for help.