Lonely as God, Heavier than Heaven

 

Lonely as God, Heavier than Heaven

by Ash Robacheaux

When your only friend is the air,

isolation isn’t a condition—it’s a covenant.

The air surrounds me.

It holds me without judgment.

It doesn’t laugh at my pain.

It doesn’t question my tears.

It is silent in reverence.

But that silence?

It’s a fucking executioner in disguise.

It reminds me—

I am a lighthouse.

Burning. Spinning. Shining.

And no one is watching.

I’m not a destination.

Not even for the drowning.

Not even for the lost or the forgotten.

Even they…

they float away from me.

The sweet death of sound.

The encompassing blanket of air.

It wraps me tight and tells me—

You walk the road alone.

Like the flame of a candle:

It can be light.

Or it can be fire.

It can be salvation.

Or a promise burned to the bone.

And the cross above my bed?

Heaven’s unreachable crown.

It dangles, just out of reach—

until death decides I’m worthy.

My salvation has hands,

but they never touch me.

They laugh from the shadows

and pull my mental health strings

like a puppet show for a crowd that already left.

Lonely as God.

Heavier than Heaven.

And still—I burn.