Prayer of Disrepair

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It’s not despair—
This, my silent prayer—
To exist in disrepair.

In a world of success,
Reveal me as failure—
A hot, unfixable mess—

Set me up for

Erasure.

Let imposters posture
Like wolves in the pasture.
An appeal to the crowd—
Ignore truth’s demise
By remaining loud.

And, my Lord, my God,
This, right here, is where
I sit down and prepare—

As I haunt alone in prayer—
Forever labeled disrepair.

I once was scared;
This time, I am certain,
The vanishing’s been

Declared.

POET’S NOTE:
Part of the ongoing series: The Rutted Road.

© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.

Tittu