248 11 10

Black soiled tears of self-imposed guilt and tainted innocents, bleed from my eyes.

The raw, delicate, tissue of my face streaked with sin's anointing forevermore.

Thought designs, and audible visions, proclaim positions in my memories.

-I long to dispose of them.

I attempt to look into the sun.

Rays which promise contentment, cascade through my ancient tree friends branches.

I focus on the beauty to aid the grotesque abrasions that have severed my soul.

The sky overhead looms, with a sense of judgment.

My desire to cover myself- to become unseen by the Lord's absolute creations, becomes a necessity.

I scurry, hunched low and settle between two massive rocks.

My back humbly rests against my truest friend; an oak tree I have come to know and love.

Thank you, for this moment of sanctuary.

-I whisper as I bow my head in shame.

I feel harsh burning within my torso, as if Satan himself has spew damnation's acid into my inner cavity.

My stomach coils.

The seed of sin has been planted, and has birthed the worm of self-infliction.

The withering demon causes ulcerations, that shall always remind me of my filth.

I, have become a disfigured creation wearing a costume of a sheep.

My masquerade, concealing my festering spirit.

I rest my forehead upon my knees.

I am aware I am crying, for I can feel my lungs convulse; yet, my tears have dried up.

-Perhaps, I am unworthy of such cleansing.

-Perhaps, I never actually possessed a conscience.

I witness a vision within the dark visors of eyes.

The vision is of a child.

Her fair hair mimics a sunflower on a summer's morn.

Her eyes, behold promises of hope and giving.

She is chasing silver butterflies, that reverb the sun.

Her laugh, echoes a song which can only be heard by the angels.

She wears no worry upon her expression.

No sin harbors, within her gaze.

No sex upon her breath.

She is purity,

she is grace,

she is.. a child.

How could I have chased a butterfly in a meadow of love scented flowers, only to later squalor in such a loathsome place of darkness, -a place where desolation, and hopelessness rape the innocent, until they smile.

When was the flame of life, replaced with the fires of the flesh?

The continuous wrenching of addictions and false hopes breathe under my skin.

The throbbing of my own pulse beats like Diablo's drum; in steady, hard, thumps- thump, thump.

Yes, I have given the evil a heartbeat by curling my little fingers around the vile beast's bony knuckles, to walk through the valley with him.