Angels flap across the sky in a flurry of eyes and feathers and teeth and I feel fine. The ground has opened up and manticores are swarming like locusts who’ve been told there’s fields to reap and I am happy. I am overjoyed as I look into the wormwood sky and see the sun in the depths of menses. Heaven means never being afraid, and it means always being safe. It means the manticore's sting can bloat and rot me, but can’t kill me. It means I crawl onwards on hands which feel pregnant by bicycle pumps and that doesn’t hurt me. It means my gums can recede and my teeth can crack and fall out of my head. It means the world can do anything it wants to me and I don’t have to be afraid. I don’t have to be afraid. The worst has already passed - heaven means reaching the point where all your struggles are in rearview. Nothing compares. All drugs and love pale in comparison to how God feels inside you. God is inside me. I feel God eating away at my insides. I feel God writhing. I’m a caterpillar full of wasp larvae - I’m totally in love with the thing that’ll turn my heart into hamburger. My belly’s gonna split like a pumpkin meeting a baseball bat the day after halloween. No one’s going to pick up my pieces. No one will have to. They’ll grow teeth and eyes and feathers. They’ll grow wings and flap away. They’ll grow up. The pieces of me will grow up, and apart from each other, and I’ll be angels flapping across the sky. That’s what heaven means. That’s what heaven on earth means. It means the end of the world, and it means the end of you. It means being ecstatic everything is finally over. It means welcoming death with open arms - and baby, my arms are as wide open as can be, leaking pus and benevolence all over this sun-cracked sidewalk. Making heaven a place on earth means making heaven a place inside of me.

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