if heaven had voicemail

If heaven had voicemail I’d leave messages every fucking night

Drunk voice trembling through static and cigarette smoke

Asking why the good ones disappear early while evil keeps buying beachfront property

Asking why loneliness echoes louder after midnight than church bells ever do

Motherfucker I’d call from motel rooms with stained carpets and broken air conditioning

From bathroom floors cold enough to feel divine punishment

From rooftops overlooking cities glowing artificial gold beneath polluted skies

Every call ending with silence longer than forgiveness

Hey God it’s me again

The same damaged kid pretending adulthood fixed the bleeding

The same soul carrying childhood trauma like unpaid debt collectors

The same idiot still searching for sacred meaning inside temporary bodies and loud music

Bitch if heaven had voicemail maybe somebody would finally hear me honestly

Not the curated version

Not the charming performer smiling through interviews and parties

The real motherfucker underneath all the aesthetics and defense mechanisms

I’d confess everything

How I use sex to distract myself from abandonment

How anger feels safer than vulnerability

How I still crave validation from people who never learned my favorite color

How some nights I stare at pills too long while pretending it’s curiosity instead of temptation

The city outside keeps breathing mechanical prayers through ambulance sirens and train tracks

Apartment windows glowing like tiny confession booths suspended in darkness

Somewhere a couple screaming at each other through thin walls

Somewhere a lonely girl crying silently beside charging phones and unfinished makeup

And here I am

Leaving spiritual voicemails no one returns

I remember my grandmother teaching me prayers as a child

Hands folded soft as old paper beneath candlelight

She said heaven listens carefully to wounded hearts

But nobody warned me silence could become its own religion later in life

Now every unanswered prayer feels personal

Every delay sounding intentional

Like the universe read my suffering and pressed delete without hesitation

Fuck I tried being faithful once

Tried believing pain transforms into wisdom eventually

But trauma don’t always make people deeper

Sometimes it just makes them exhausted and suspicious of kindness

I kissed a whore in the backseat after a funeral once

Her lipstick tasted like wine and emotional survival

She whispered everybody worships something eventually

Money

Bodies

Fame

Nostalgia

Self destruction

I think mine became absence

Missing people

Missing versions of myself

Missing peace I never actually experienced but somehow still mourn

If heaven had voicemail I’d ask about her too

The girl who swore forever while emotionally packing her bags months beforehand

The one who touched my scars gently then used them during arguments later

Tell me God was she lying the whole time

Or did love just decay naturally beneath modern loneliness and ego

The line would probably crackle with static instead of answers

That’s how divine communication feels lately

Like broken signals from another dimension

Like trying to tune ancient radio frequencies with blood covered hands

My friends think I’m doing better because I laugh louder now

Because I post more

Because I learned how to wear expensive sadness elegantly

But healing ain’t always beautiful

Sometimes it looks like functioning while spiritually hollow

Sometimes it looks like flirting at parties while secretly hoping someone notices the emptiness behind your pupils

Sometimes it looks like overworking because silence invites dangerous thoughts back inside

Sometimes it looks like surviving without ever feeling genuinely alive again

Bitch I’d leave heaven dozens of messages

Some angry

Some desperate

Some embarrassingly hopeful despite everything

One would just be breathing quietly into the receiver

Because grief exhausts language eventually

Because some pain grows too large for vocabulary

Because loneliness sometimes sounds exactly like static between galaxies

And maybe somewhere beyond all this noise

Beyond the addictions and failed relationships and inherited sadness

Somebody actually listens

Maybe angels replay our suffering the way humans replay favorite songs

Maybe every breakdown becomes archived somewhere sacred instead of disappearing completely

Or maybe not

Maybe existence is just random cruelty wrapped in pretty sunsets and temporary affection

Maybe heaven stays silent because silence is the answer

Maybe we keep talking into darkness because hope itself is addictive

Still

I’d keep calling

Night after night

Voice cracked from cigarettes and disappointment

Leaving little pieces of my soul after every beep

Like a faithful idiot refusing to hang up even after realizing nobody’s coming to save him