We pray as a family

to caffeine,

sixty or more hour workweeks,

and running on the fumes of fumes.

We spread the gospel of

our lord and savior,

insomnia.

 

Our mantra,

“There’s always room for improvement.”

We chant it under our breath.

 

I am in constant competition

with my past selves.

Every compliment followed by

an internal narrator’s “for now.”

Each success, a piece in the

sequential series of befores.

 

Desperate to undo

all it means to be human.