It feels strange being here.
This house is strewn and divided.
A part of it is empty, cold, and red,
another is empty, cold, and blue.

What happened in this house
has left us all confused.
We are jumbled and collided
strewn and divided.

I search for my dreams inside cabinets
I open them one by one
And rummage through
Plates, table cloths, knives, and bowls
Trying to find the one
That only my sister it holds

On this dream I lay heavily
Until I flatten it with the weight
Of my concern
This particular dream
picked me up by my feet
And slammed me onto the asphalt
Repeatedly
Until my tears for it conjured up a canal
And I floated down it with my sisters bowl
Until this gap wasn't a hole.

Caraphernelia.
I understand the word at all times.
You left me things
that shutter my eyes.
And when I wake up,
there's too much light.
I stumble around,
trying to close the blinds.

Caraphernelia.
I comprehend it with all my might.
Bring me the things
that will cut open my soul.
And when I try to sleep at night,
I think of ways to make me feel whole.
But after my rest,
I forget my ideas and return to
the misery on my chest.

Sins sit on my shoulders.
At first, I think they are just dust;
I try to sweep them off with a light brush.
Then I realize they are freckles,
blankly staring at me,
dirtying my clear, alabaster skin.
As I run my fingertips over them,
I find them feeling rough
like sandpaper or cement bricks.
I try to dig my nails underneath,
attempting to prop them up
the same way I would with
an easel and a picture
or an ottoman and my feet.
They are difficult to peel, though,
and I find that it takes a great struggle.
When I finally rip the sins off,
I toss them up in the air,
allowing them to float around
as I breathe in heavily,
sighing and relaxing,
thanking God's speed.
I forget, though,
that those freckles
float and sail like nomads,
wishing to come down a couple inches
and find themselves again on me.
I flinch and sway,
trying to keep most of them away.
But I become careless after a time,
and welcome one or two over to lay.
Back again on my shoulders,
back again come my fears,
once again I must pick and pull,
once again I look like a fool.
I acknowledge the distrust
that I lay in God's lap.
I see how my promises
highlight my acts of disobey.
These sins on my shoulders
restlessly play
as my fingers are scratching,
scratching away.

Honestly, we came here to fight this war.
But, oh, it's such a ****** war.
Can't you feel the confusion?
Where are my men?
Am I still following my king closely,
or is that a beast in disguise?

Really, we came here to fight this war.
But, oh, it's such a gruesome war.
Can't you feel that pain in your side?
Where's the medical camp?
Am I on my way there,
or am I making this wound worse still?

Seriously, we came here to fight this war.
But, oh, it's such a difficult battle.
Can't you imagine explaining this to someone?
Could you even put this sight into words?
Let's just hope we make it out alive.
Don't fall too close to the ground.

Do you realize what the enemy has done?
Fill your body with the will to fight.
Pour it in your legs, up your body, to your throat,
just like you would with a glass and water.

Remember what this means.