Workers of lawlessness, you think you know him
But you pray to a dead god; a god of fantasy
A false god of the pharisee
Living life in your own fantasy
Thinking you'll be in a place that's heavenly

You looked at the door, but there was never a knock
You thought your heart was flesh, but it was still a rock
You felt so Godly, but you follow the crooked path of the folly

Cause a wolf in the herd you still are
But still you don't know his name
When he called from afar
Only his sheep came.

Matthew 7:21-23
Sunflowers follow the sun
They sleep when the sun sleeps
And awake when the sun awakes
The heat of the sun can set many things to ablaze
But can also awaken life and reveal what the dark has hidden from your face

You are the sun and I, your sunflower
I was once asleep
Then You arose
And then I arose
You are the sun and I, your sunflower
I follow wherever you go.

John 11: 43-44
Days were short, but nights were long
While I was with you, I drew my dreams in crayon
Messy sketches, missing puzzle pieces
But adding you, it felt like it was coming along

It didn’t matter if the sun was asleep
We danced in the dark like we could still see

Sweaters on cold nights and warm talks that seemed to last forever
Undercovered from the after-rain at coffee shops
Walks that were in summery weather
Always waiting by the max station by the Moda Center
Our destination didn't matter, we were on an adventure

The night was young and so was our love
Memories were long, but moments were short
I feel childish to hold on
This is why my dreams are still in crayon.

1 Corithians 13:7-8
He stared at me with a new pair of eyes
They were eyes of harmonic oceans
Like if he had been starstruck, staring at the reflected starry sky
His mighty waves washed over my heart of magma
Then my volcanic stoned heart broke like the hatching of doves

The way he looked at me…
It comforted my weeping
They looked at my pitiful beauty
Tenderly emphasizing me with love
And continuously captured our precious moments together

Beautiful are the eyes that laugh with such joy
And cry without shedding tears
They talk to me more than lips ever could

Never ignore my presence
Look at the door of my soul and not the dry ground
Don't hide your face from me, like how the stars hide behind the clouds
Out of shame, don't push away the tides
Look at me again with those oceanic eyes
Ephesians 4:31-32
When its emerald eye glimmers in the shadow of the dusty shelf above
I pause,
I sense a presense.

It is not unlike me to attribute human characteristics to inanimate objects.
Give them names and nicknames and quirky character traits based on how their forms bend.

In the flickering lights of a broke wicken sanctuary though, I do not do it out of habit.

I feel it and stare it back down and see my own reflection in the cracked gems that once were a soul.

A gaudy skull.

The kind you see in home video Indiana Jones tributes,
with hats stolen from someone’s parents,
and jackets stolen from someone else’s elder siblings,
and ketchup for blood.

The kind your quirky local manic pixie dream girl uses to hold incense.

The kind I’m about to waste my money on because I’m an adult now and I can use my millennial minimum wage however I want.

I do not become aware of the possessed nature of my new buddy until I take it back home and hear it snicker in the middle of the night.

I know it is the skull, for my roommate is not one to snicker.

(He chuckles when he’s hiding an opinion and has a villainous laugh when it’s coming from a place of sincerity, but that’s beside the point)

I know it’s laughing at me.
I know this for a fact.

It takes me three more nights to call it out on it because I’ve never been confronted with the issue of standing up to a haunted antique I took home from a secondhand shop, possibly owned by satan’s offspring.
But I’m twenty-one years old and still experiencing some firsts, I suppose.

The gaudy skull is exceptionally snarky.
In a way none of my named plants ever were.
Not even Gerard.

He comes for me for the garbage on the floor and the dust on the windowsill on which he’s propped up, and then later for my poor taste in chore-doing music.

I never ask for its name because I know for a fact he’ll make a game out of it
and I am not in the mood for entertaining ghosts.

I come to realise it all on my own a couple of weeks later.
Once the snark starts to wear off,
and domesticity settles in,
and shared quiet becomes comforting,
despite the circumstances.

It is Judas.

I know this for a fact.

You do not understand the extent to which I am certain that it is Judas.
I have never been so aware of someone’s origins in my entire life.
I bought this creepy item and it is now in my room and I’m developing a weird attachment to it and maybe occasionally use it as a paper-weight and it is Judas.

I feel it in my heart and know it inside of my skull that might be standing on someone else’s touchscreen windowsill
two thousand years in the future,
jade stones for eyes even though I specifically requested amber,
but you get fucked over by bureaucracy even after death.

How do I know it is Judas?

Because I feel him stare at me like he wants to kiss me late at night and sense him plotting my betrayal early morning.

I know it is that, for a fact, because I’ve felt this exact sensation before.

My damn edgy room decor is Judas.

I try to get him to admit it himself by talking of past lovers and reading aloud the surprising number of Jesus metaphor poems I have in my room.
I hate Jesus metaphors, but I do it for that sweet sensation of seeing someone trying to dodge the inevitable once it’s coming at them like a mule through Rome piloted by the son of god.

I know he’ll cave eventually and tell me
and I know it’ll be the same caliber of glorious news as Jesus coming out of his own cave of burial,
resurrected and preaching winning.
I know I’ll win.

And I think to myself that maybe I am in the mood to entertain and just haven’t found the right outlet yet.
Maybe history’s most infamous apostle is It.
The original sinner and the original rebel.

(I’m aware it’s technically Cain, the jealousy-ridden son of Adam and Eve, but I only ever count the gays)

Judas and I have bonded.

And I can tell he’s on the verge of telling me his dark and twisted backstory. Again, I have felt this sensation before.

And when it happens, we can talk
about what it’s like being demonised by the one you love
and being the odd one out in your devotee friend group, even though you eat bread and drink wine and worship metaphor just like them.
And how patriarchal institutions distort history to pedal the same tired spiel of everything having a place and everything being there for a reason.

But we both know that isn’t true
because neither of us feel like part of god’s plan or created in anyone’s image.

And we can listen to sad music about wanting to kiss the wrong people together.

And that’s all I ever wanted from a friendship.
I wax and wane like crescent moon
Pulsating in the night.
Each day I further stray from You
And further from the light.

Dust gathers on the Holy Book,
The words that once brought life.
Now worldly vices bring me peace
In pleasure and in strife.

I once believed a God-shaped hole
Was buried in each man.
A vacuum only You could fill,
With Your almighty hand.

But then with wisdom and with time,
The scales fell from my eyes.
So many shapes that vacuum takes!
My sins of every size.

From sin to grace to sin again-
So many times I fell!
I wax and wane like crescent moon.
With my soul, is it well?
Larri Aug 7
She was the angel who got left behind
During the fall she wasted her time
Singing to the daisies, humming hem to sleep at night.
She watched as the devil, crept toward the innocent being.
She could've stopped him, but she laid down to sleep.
That was the day, daisies withered away.
A girl just like her, fooled by a snake.
She could only watch in, wishing to return.
To the time when she could reverse.
All the pain that would go on, the woman would die.
All because she needed and extra hour of sleeep that night.
Not saying somthing terrible happens if you don't do one little thing. But it's hard to find motivation sometimes, or all the time. Good luck c;
Joshua Nai Aug 3
i dont want to be part of this.
i dont want to be part of the destruction of myself.
i dont want to be one of them.
i dont want to be me.
i want to be him.
Romans 12:2 yall. amazing verse. Do not conform any longer to the world but be transformed by the renewal of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is-his good, pleasing, and perfect will.
V Exeter Aug 2
Years ago, I met a young man.
Our acquaintance carried on:
two degenerate artists in a workshop
full of biblical form warriors.
I went on to call him a friend.
Correspondence stitched together
parted hearts. Hearts so determined
just to Exsanguinate in silence.
Years later, I met a fissure.
My relationship with myself:
emulating a masculinity
handed down to me. For the sake
of someone else.
Went on to come out & tell him in letter.
Went on to come out & tell him by letter.
& he said
& he said,
"You're hiding from reality behind a fantasy."
"You're hiding from reality behind a fantasy."
Fuck friends.
You sold me an artist --
but, I got a scientist.
You sold me a lover --
but, love is abstract.
God, damn it.
Fuck friends.
Joshua Nai Jul 28

Did I smile?
Did i laugh without tears, did I shout, and screamed with no fear,
Did I dance? Did I pretend I am okay?
I am forgetful sometimes, so please remind me of my pain....

Did you miss me?
Did you see me in the stars,
Did you see me, as  I looked on the other side of the road, past the cars.
Did you see me, smiling from the moon, did you see me, warming you up at noon?
Did you see me, in between the leaves, did you see me as I danced while you're asleep....
Did you see me, as I shut your eyes.
Did you see me, as I kissed you from up I sang a lullaby...
Maybe I haven't been noticing you God....
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