Sometimes in my nightmares I’m God,
not the regal haloed man
or an omnipotent beast,
just me in a robe.
Never by choice, I’m exalted
by a passerby angel
or I’ve found that God retired
and I’m the closest option.

As god, my first action is to cry.
My hands, still small, shake
but carry the weight of life.
I can never find my siblings,
who the angels say
God never created.

My second action as god is run
through the blue storm I brewed
and search, tear up
the building blocks of a world I created
Prayers pile up in my holy email inbox
but I can’t get back to my computer.
The terror of responding wrong.

My third action as god is curl
in on myself and become smaller.
My siblings never existed
nor anyone else I loved.
Bit-by-bit, pieces of life fade away,
opaque then transparent then translucent then gone.
Nobody screams when they fade,
I’m the last speck of color they see.

And I’m left all alone again
when I wake crying.

Basil Payne (they/them) is a queer poet-artist living in Logan, Utah. Their work can be found in Sugar House Review, Sink Hollow, Oyster River Pages, Sheepshead Review, Progenitor, The Southern Quill, and occasionally Utah State University's Projects Gallery.