It seems as if the only purpose of life is to give its guests a hard time.
The inhabitants of this world regularly engage with their demons without having an escape.
They're trapped in an abusive relationship with their mistakes,
Seduced by their pains and manipulated by the familiarity it provides.
They start feeling like family, like home, like all you've ever known was that feeling at the deep end so time and time again you choose it.
Instead of looking for a way out, you lie on the mess you've made.
Why does our minds trick us so?
Never giving up the role of authority, disregarding the presence of the Trinity.
It gives orders like a general training its soldiers for a suicide mission. I'm on a suicide mission.
Made up of glass shards and all the other parts of me he broke on a single mission, hellbent on destroying my very being mission.
Sin is a lover as cunning and sly as a snake.
He says he sees your beauty despite all of your mistakes.
What a tragedy! he says....it's a good thing because it matches his profanity.
His nature of bending the rules as if it was made of elastic and not God's iron fist must have warned you to stay away from him.
But the bad ones always have the charm and they pull you closer and **** your soul until there's nothing left anymore.
But a righteous lamb was slain for the entertainment of the bloodthirsty hyenas screaming for something, someone to blame for their fake faith, second-rate theology.
Tetelestai; THIS IS IT
This is the time your world's supposed to turn around but why is mine turning anti-clockwise?
I've always been a follower of Christ yet I still feel the way I did when I was a child.
Is there a curse put upon poetry?
Do all writers write from their own empty souls begging for a story?
With hedonistic urges propelling our descent?