The War

I'm feeling sad, but I can't say exactly why.
And wouldn't you know that it makes me so mad.
Depression...
I've bee makin' my confessions but feelin' like I'm in
Remission...
Do I need someone's permission... to be Happy?

On my shoulders I constantly feel
the weight and the pain of something unreal.
And not even the rain can wash away the shame,
The way I feel is going down the drain.

That's where I go.
All my everything, down through darkness,
everything rubbing me against the grain.
I dig in, please, anything to slow me down
but the thoughts', they remain like I've boarded some train

With barred doors...

I ache with every step now, my shadow nesting beside me
And she smiles so prettily... It's sickly.
Every kiss created a link, every time our bodies met
made another yard of this chain.

I didn't want this, all I wanted was for my loneliness
to be sated if only for one moment.
My fingers and their wanderlust turned my life into dust
Touching places not meant to be touched,
Reserved places, hidden places, sacred places.
And now I'm hiding, crawling into darkness,
Trapped inside, my self-imposed state of stasis.

Everyday is a lie and all I can do is cry,
Everyday I will lie and I will try and try
to pry myself away from the corruption
Of my mistakes so seemingly simplified.

And then someone,
Who by some Miracle, still cares
For this broken body of mine
whispers to the dark part of my heart,

"I want to give you a precious gift."

Why?
Its a very easy why-
because love still exists in the midst of my blindness.
And He my head will lift to Heavenly places, and He
will fill me with His graces.

But there is something I'm not doing, refuse to get going,
Against my own heart, my own life, my own soul
I hold a dagger of gold.
Gold refined by hate and remorse,
pressing closer and closer
until blood runs forth.
And how it drains me- please... someone catch me.

I can't take the dagger from my hand, like some
Pitiless stranger, it latches into my bones
saying that this will be what I forever condone.

Covering me with graces?
And then, with so much fear, I realize,
its not alone.
Two, three- its a gun, its a curse, its a rope
Pressed, yelling, and coiling around
My fragile, beating heart.
It squeezes and I yell now, opening my eyes
and finding myself seeing my own hell.
... Covering me with graces?

With a fierceness, the Heavenly lightening falls,
Its purple fire surrounding, swallowing my heart whole.
I'm screaming now, please let me be dreaming now,
because this hurts so bad now.
The gun melts in the heat now,
the curse drowned out by the roaring now,
The rope burned by the fire now-
From the flames a voice sounds now,
and it says I am worth something,
it says I'm some kind of royalty,
it says I am loved, covered by a Great King.

Yet I'm still having trouble believing, trouble seeing
I've been taught so much about forgiving the debtors
But my own debt, I've held on to, convinced
That no one will ever forgive and forget.
Pressured by my own selfishness, my fingers wouldn't uncurl.

This may seem ridiculous, it may not even make sense,
it seems stupid and worthless and worst of all, hopeless.
I won't learn, and I won't forgive- my gun, my knife, my rope
Well, they're all still there.
I'm  trying to rhyme, trying to take back time
like an idiot, I try and try
But it continues to come out as words I can't accept.

This is my struggle, and boy, is it brutal.
But it doesn't mean a thing, it won't end the eternal sting,
On my shoulders I feel, a heavy presence all too real
Like super glue it's stuck, and it won't ever leave.
That's just my luck.

Covering me with graces?
I don't know anymore. I can't feel it, can't see it
Is it even real?
And this remains my confession, one of my struggle
with self-destruction, motivated by guilt
and kept in by the walls I built.

God, this was supposed to be my confession, and I want
to come out of this degradation, my losses
they feel incredible and I miss everything about who I was.
I am consumed by my own hate, and falling for my own bait
and I can't believe it won't happen again, this is my fault
and it is my stain...

Tell me why I try to write, when it doesn't do much good?
"For it to be worth reading, it has to be sad."
Only then does it sound good, only then am I any good.
It sounds pretty, but its dragging on without point,
no nothing. I hate this, I can't take this.

Holding my past over my head, this is how I live.
I make choices that reflect how easily I give under
my own temptations- and what am I supposed to do?
Trust in savings graces- forgive myself,
move on and grow on, supposed to give it all away and hold on
to nothing, because I learn that I can't depend on myself.
I can't save me.

This is the difference between what's happening and what's
supposed to happen.
I'm struggling, I'm drowning, yet I keep on reaching, growing.
And it hurts, its hard and I wish I had another card
in my hand. In the end I wonder
which way these scales will tip, at the end which one
have I poured more into? Who will win?

Heaven or Hell

Which will be my final destination?
I feel only a little more time shall tell.
And that's been one long story, to be covered by many graces?