They see all the good
    They're torn towards all the bad
             They know what's coming
   But they never look back
          To all they could have had
     They want their justice
              Yet, they leave it to the devil
        Dressed all in black
              With wilted roses
   Tattooed across their backs
           They've fallen,
    Deceived, tortured and abandoned
         Their holy calling
  There's a war raging between
            Their moral stance
       Their inner desires
                And their loyalty
         They never leave life to chance
  These Angels in black
          With wilted roses
       Tattooed across their backs,
Daggers, swords and knives
          Have red stained faces
     And hold the fate
             Of all our lives
       They can feel the shame
    Of this deadly game they play
          Yet, these Angels in black
With wilted roses
        Tattooed across their backs,
    Sacrifice everything for our souls
            Yet, a soul
   Is *all they truly lack

You are like good poetry
If good were a stronger word
Your words so sophisticated I need a dictionary,
My fingers stumbling through its pages just trying to keep up
You are the Clair de Lune of verses,
Shakespeare would have needed to invent new words just to describe you
I want to study you like one of John Donne's Holy Sonnets.
Reading you for hours just trying to understand
You're made of allegory, allusion, alliteration,
Line after line more complex and beautiful
If beautiful were a stronger word.

You know what's hard to grasp?
The thought that there might be a man up there trying to stop a man downstairs from dragging me into the basement.
You see what I meant is that its hard to grasp the idea of a deity parting the clouds so there can be light for me.
Am I wrong to deny that a book is evidence?
When its been around since before my grandfather's great grandmother was even a thought?
Its a little hard to grasp
That this man would create beautiful people and destroy them with just one emotion.
"God loves you"
If I am supposed to take what I hear and form my life around this God I'd rather be taken by the man downstairs or maybe I just don't hate myself enough.
I'm supposed to see what Christians see the only problem is my vision isn't like a CAT scan covered in mud.
This Jesus bled the blood of our sins but once again I just can't grasp that.
So God gave his son for the world but when has he forsaken himself
That question can't be asked because the preacher will push it to the back of the shelf with "He died for us"
We can't help ourselves because that's Gods plan
Or at least that's what we say when we can't do anything.
Personally I hope there is a God so that when I die I can personally tell him
Man you're doing a ****** job.

Dream?
Rather, I trance
Clairvoyantly and deeply
Surreal depression is all encompassing
Resting wholesomely in pit
Submerged for days

Birthed within for purpose
Almost as if I am entitled to certain knowledge
These trances are not subtle
An omnipresence exists
Shifting my point of view to be perceived as a film
An entirely silent film

Absent are words and sounds
Fully present is divination
Intuition at its vertex
Within streets and eyes
My surroundings and skies
I am given details of the trance I am in/watching
A glance triggers my insides to whisper

*As her eyes screamed fire
Her lips never parted
...
When her eyelashes thanked me
My exhale smiled