God lives in the streetlights of a childhood I will never have. God lives in times and distances and lifetimes I will never see.

The amberglow of filament, buzzing, bearing witness to the follies of a youth unrestrained by threads and eyes, claws and teeth. A youth unsullied, untorn, holy, pure in its godlessness and disgust.

Bikes left on the side of a road, no frills, no flounces, shirtlessness in a pool where the air is heady and chlorinated, and I would struggle to prove myself against the natural equilibrium of oxygen and water six feet under.

There is a childhood that was robbed of me by no one.

There is an adulthood being robbed from me by the people I once idolised as my saviour.