Apr 2018
I found my faith on the chopping block in this abattoir* of unanswered prayers and twisted beliefs. One moment of indecision taking me to these crossroads and down a path I don’t dare to follow. Yet, have no choice but to take. It’s crazy where desperation leads...somewhere between salvation and another hell station, lacking the “S” standing for any amount of security or any sense of solutions. I find myself lost.
And there may be no valleys, but I am surrounded by all these shadows of death. My innocence has been crucified, a sacrifice to some far away claim of something better…better than this. Yet, there doesn’t seem to be any happy endings in sight and no hint of helping hands guiding the way through the turmoil of these trials. God, or whoever may be listening, why have you forsaken me? Or is my blasphemy the orchestrator of my damnation? Do my sins author the ending of this book? If so, turn then my *** around and help me elude the epilogue* to this hellish nightmare. Because you see, there are no footprints in the sand, only bloodstains from where I crawled on hands and knees and clawed at any kernel of truth I could surmise in the sands of fate and in the time between cigarettes or every chaser following now forgotten shots. Those spirits are a poison that burrow into my faith and a rot at the edges of my sanity. I need a doctor.
So wrap my soul in the Hippocratic Oath, because you look less like the surgeon of my destiny and more like the butcher tearing me to pieces. Facts that I refuse to face, you’re cleaving away at any fat that you deem inadmissible. And who is innocent in your eyes…?
Or am I the judge?
If shadows had a face, they’d be the one staring back at me in the mirror. My inadequacies could fill books and Freud would need a lifetime to decipher what’s wrong. Is that what they mean when they say “throw the book at you”?
Is this my trial by fire?
Is the monster in the darkness one of my creation?
God…I need a miracle when I crash...
Rock bottom comes with some scars, but with realization as well. It’s that final moment of surrender, and then you are there. And maybe I’ve been wrong all along. Salvation was never meant to be easy and faith always spelt the truth. Fighting All I Thought Habitual. It’s eerie how your Word has a ring to it when ears finally open to listen. It rolls off the tongue with a sweeter taste than any curse. And hindsight is truly twenty-twenty or maybe you’ve just lit the way, or maybe…I’m just starting to see. It seems like those fingerprints look a lot like yours. And the bloodstains are a sacrifice you offered to maintain innocence I thought stolen. I was never really lost, just bad at reading the road signs. You ask where my faith is. It was never gone. Just misplaced. And there was never a straight and narrow, only the arrows He continues to use to guide me.
A/N:
Abattoir – Slaughterhouse
Epilogue – Ending chapter which sums up the tale and ties loose ends.
Habitual – Doing, practicing or acting by force of habit. Inherent in an individual.
And there may be no valleys, but I am surrounded by all these shadows of death. My innocence has been crucified, a sacrifice to some far away claim of something better…better than this. Yet, there doesn’t seem to be any happy endings in sight and no hint of helping hands guiding the way through the turmoil of these trials. God, or whoever may be listening, why have you forsaken me? Or is my blasphemy the orchestrator of my damnation? Do my sins author the ending of this book? If so, turn then my *** around and help me elude the epilogue* to this hellish nightmare. Because you see, there are no footprints in the sand, only bloodstains from where I crawled on hands and knees and clawed at any kernel of truth I could surmise in the sands of fate and in the time between cigarettes or every chaser following now forgotten shots. Those spirits are a poison that burrow into my faith and a rot at the edges of my sanity. I need a doctor.
So wrap my soul in the Hippocratic Oath, because you look less like the surgeon of my destiny and more like the butcher tearing me to pieces. Facts that I refuse to face, you’re cleaving away at any fat that you deem inadmissible. And who is innocent in your eyes…?
Or am I the judge?
If shadows had a face, they’d be the one staring back at me in the mirror. My inadequacies could fill books and Freud would need a lifetime to decipher what’s wrong. Is that what they mean when they say “throw the book at you”?
Is this my trial by fire?
Is the monster in the darkness one of my creation?
God…I need a miracle when I crash...
Rock bottom comes with some scars, but with realization as well. It’s that final moment of surrender, and then you are there. And maybe I’ve been wrong all along. Salvation was never meant to be easy and faith always spelt the truth. Fighting All I Thought Habitual. It’s eerie how your Word has a ring to it when ears finally open to listen. It rolls off the tongue with a sweeter taste than any curse. And hindsight is truly twenty-twenty or maybe you’ve just lit the way, or maybe…I’m just starting to see. It seems like those fingerprints look a lot like yours. And the bloodstains are a sacrifice you offered to maintain innocence I thought stolen. I was never really lost, just bad at reading the road signs. You ask where my faith is. It was never gone. Just misplaced. And there was never a straight and narrow, only the arrows He continues to use to guide me.
A/N:
Abattoir – Slaughterhouse
Epilogue – Ending chapter which sums up the tale and ties loose ends.
Habitual – Doing, practicing or acting by force of habit. Inherent in an individual.
