Nov 2013
I was 17 the day you frantically tried to stop the blood flow and give me yours. Wearing a coat of grief and guilt you thought to yourself, Did I let her do this? Was this my fault? And how did I not see this coming?
Over and over I was trying to tell you this is not your fault, and I am so sorry that you are weeping, but I was unconscious and your screaming would have masked any poor words I could have attempted to mutter.
And at 1:32 in the morning I watched you grip my lifeless body, praying that the ambulance arrives in time, but they were just lonely words and I had already met God, and the way he looked at me, with the same hunger in his eyes a distraught ****** would convey. And he called to me! He cooed, “Please, please, come baby.” Chanting the unforgivable words that once robbed me of a childhood.
And he has attempted the seven deadly sins-succeeded with five Lust, sloth, gluttony, greed and wrath. Yet has he been envious for what would be the reason? He is GOD, mighty and royal. And nor has he been filled with pride because his shame is to bone-although it doesn’t show. This is not the god I have been taught to love. He is not mighty. He does not pay for his sins and he cannot be forgiven, for who is he begging to? Filthy and judgmental He wants me to know judgement day is upon us and only he who has obeyed the false instructions shall be accepted And he wants me to know: I will not be one of the many.
Feeling *****, I go way down low. There i met the devil; soul crushing and obscene. Obscene as one can be. Someone who truly deserves agony, someone who deserves to burn. I say hello. He shakes his tail and crawls to me. He sniffs. He knows who I’ve met and he knows that I’ve left. I cringe under his abusive eyes. He strikes me-I strike back. I shall not be demeaned underneath this man who shows even god to be angelic. Humor proves to be his second language and his enjoyment comes from the blood of others; the smell of their fear; and their flesh stripped wounds satisfy his obvious lust. There I lie, stripped of my skin and red covered limbs. I allow myself to rise and he allows me to leave. His fun is over-what’s the use of a bag of bones?
Crawling back out i realize; our holy heaven and our flaming hell are only two different versions of evil.
What seems like a decade and what possibly could be-I crawl back to the house my soul no longer lives in. And at 1:34 in the morning I see my mother once again-she has a gun in her palm. Shaking. Crying. We both beg. I cannot stop her. She cannot hear me. Blood. Splattered walls. Two drenched bodies.
Over and over I was trying to tell you this is not your fault, and I am so sorry that you are weeping, but I was unconscious and your screaming would have masked any poor words I could have attempted to mutter.
And at 1:32 in the morning I watched you grip my lifeless body, praying that the ambulance arrives in time, but they were just lonely words and I had already met God, and the way he looked at me, with the same hunger in his eyes a distraught ****** would convey. And he called to me! He cooed, “Please, please, come baby.” Chanting the unforgivable words that once robbed me of a childhood.
And he has attempted the seven deadly sins-succeeded with five Lust, sloth, gluttony, greed and wrath. Yet has he been envious for what would be the reason? He is GOD, mighty and royal. And nor has he been filled with pride because his shame is to bone-although it doesn’t show. This is not the god I have been taught to love. He is not mighty. He does not pay for his sins and he cannot be forgiven, for who is he begging to? Filthy and judgmental He wants me to know judgement day is upon us and only he who has obeyed the false instructions shall be accepted And he wants me to know: I will not be one of the many.
Feeling *****, I go way down low. There i met the devil; soul crushing and obscene. Obscene as one can be. Someone who truly deserves agony, someone who deserves to burn. I say hello. He shakes his tail and crawls to me. He sniffs. He knows who I’ve met and he knows that I’ve left. I cringe under his abusive eyes. He strikes me-I strike back. I shall not be demeaned underneath this man who shows even god to be angelic. Humor proves to be his second language and his enjoyment comes from the blood of others; the smell of their fear; and their flesh stripped wounds satisfy his obvious lust. There I lie, stripped of my skin and red covered limbs. I allow myself to rise and he allows me to leave. His fun is over-what’s the use of a bag of bones?
Crawling back out i realize; our holy heaven and our flaming hell are only two different versions of evil.
What seems like a decade and what possibly could be-I crawl back to the house my soul no longer lives in. And at 1:34 in the morning I see my mother once again-she has a gun in her palm. Shaking. Crying. We both beg. I cannot stop her. She cannot hear me. Blood. Splattered walls. Two drenched bodies.
