What do you keep in the barrels of your backroom? The ones you nail shut and forget about? How many versions of people do you store there? Does the sexual prowess of uncles, brothers, fathers and lovers have a home there?
How many barrels have we filled to protect those we love? How much pain do we lock away there? Does all the hurt in the world end up there? When you question God, when you question our culture, our government, our life, why he put his hands elsewhere… does that doubt take up residence in that enclosed darkness?
Do we nail up the survivors too? Do we forget about them because they keep moving? Because they go on with life? Do we lock away the idea that somewhere inside them they’re hurting?
Can you tell me what sort of nails you use? Because… they must be very special nails to keep all that pain from pouring out.
Tell me what makes a man so special that you’d store a dau...