Pray

I know I shouldn't pray for you
You, the atheist that scoffs at the even slightly
Doe-eyed believer.
(Maybe not with your mouth,
But with your eyes.)
I know I shouldn't pray for you
But you're broken
In more pieces then I can even dream
Of fixing.
And there's only one being I know
Who might have the power in His hands
To fix you.

So I lay awake at night and apologize
For things I'm not particularly sorry for.
I recite what little knowledge I have
Of The Book, saying things like
'I love you'.
'Thank you for today.'
'Goodnight.'
In hopes that if I'm polite enough
He'll answer my prayer.
He'll give me a redo.
He'll let me protect you from the world
That is slowly killing you
With its hidden fangs.

And I know it's bad enough
That I think you're broken.
(It's worse that you know you are.)
But to ask for help
From someone you never believed
Was there is presumptuous.
And I know you'll hate me for it.
You'll despise me if you ever found out.

But I can't bring myself to care
When I see you with that
Broken smile
On your face.