Sitting in a pew,
Thinking of my nightmares of you.
Kneeling to pray,
But no God will save me today.

I sit in the confessional,
But what can I confess to these halls?
Bloodied traces and
Tear stained faces,

I was thirteen when I threw up blood for the first time,
And I was turning nineteen the last time,
And humans are filled with bad intentions,
We sin in order to ignore all that our hearts mention,

Like you're only doing this for the thrill,
Or who would it ****?
You.
It destroys you.

We make excuses
To validate our uses,
Of people or words or things,
And this judgment is all that I can bring.

I'll let you in on a secret,
Let's hope you can keep it.
I never feel better after confession,
Maybe I'm too guilty for my good intentions.