A door way, and some sound proofing. Looking from the outside that is all that made this building special.
Its door held open for the destitute, for the broken, and beaten. Afraid to be themselves.
But here
Here in this place, this chapel.
the meek do gather.

This building of concrete, rubber, and metal, rusting
in a bustling town that ignores its presence
it's a sanctuary.
A safe place for these people who day in and day out live in fear.
Did i say too much?
Do they know?
Will they be angry?
Will they be violent?

This is no normal church though, for its congregation gathers not to pray but to be free from prayer.
To them every breathe is a prayer,
Every paranoid look over their shoulder,
Every mental social calculation,
Every sigh of relief when the little things go unnoticed,
happy to just be invisible.

When you walk through those doors, past the bouncer, to the bar, all of those feelings melting away in a cacophony of bass,
All the anger, all the fight or flight, all the fear.
Just love. Just acceptance.