Losing heart

Even a rabid dog can’t stop a car by barking and trying to bite its tires. My writing has begun to seem useless, like words in invisible ink on toilet paper. It’s painful to remember, but I can’t forget. I might as well get drunk and pass out. While I’m out, I’ll dream of Ukraine. I’ll dream I’m listening to old women, to women who have lost everything but have never given up hope. I’ll say that we have the same tormentors, but that I’ll expose them for their abuses. I’ll say that the wicked don’t go to heaven, but die of bitterness and poverty of spirit. Lord have mercy on all who suffer. Pray that their strength and faith keep them, and that they don’t get to be like the evil ones who have made their lives like hell.