Writings of a Sinner

For all sin and fall short of the glory of God

Month: March, 2016

I can’t look away

I can’t close my eyes and shut out the scene that I don’t wish to see. 

It’s there. It’s happening and I know of it’s existence. 

I can’t look away and ignore the sight of my mirror’s betrayal. 

The downfall is painfully present and is shaming the night. 

I can’t fall asleep and not think about how I’m not needed. 

I felt the footsteps coming before the ground could tell me the same. 

Tightrope

Tiptoeing on a tightrope I’m trembling to tell you that I’m still trying. 

Broken on words that bust and bruise and bleed me dry of any bravery. 

Eyelids indecisive between easy sleeping and the effortless eating of hours. 

Honesty hurts harder than the hand that harms my hastily forsaken heart. 

Too close 

I almost lost it all today. I almost lost it all. 

I came so close to to the breaking point. So close to a terrible fall. 

A quake shook my heart today. Your portrait is still firm against its wall. 

I almost lost my heart today. I almost lost it all. 

Trap

I am a trap. 

A cunning and terrible trap. 

Sometimes I even catch myself. 

But it’s always too late. 

I’m afraid that you’re caught. 

That I cannot let you go. 

You’re better off free. 

You’re better off gone. 

Without knowing me. 

Wash

To sit on the step and feel the sky drip on my dry hair has me aching. 

Aching for another drop of pure clear gold to devour me. 

Praying for a storm of colossal proportion to wash me away. 

I’m a block to be eroded. A hill to be swept flat. 

The cracks are waiting to be broken open and torn apart. 

What will we find beneath? Will there be soft skin anew? 

Or will there be a crying beast breathing fresh air for the first time?  

I shudder in thought like a screen door to the wind. 

Rain fiery redemption on me, yet I stand accused and convicted. 

If not, just storm, blow, and wash me away. 

Wretched 

Closed mouth bubbles with silence. 

A frustrated roar caged behind clenched teeth. 

The lips are immobile, thick, soundproof curtains. 

These fingertips itch to dig into the flesh of the off white walls. 

Some hidden force restrains terrible urges with tremendous control. 

The mirror shows a clean figure but it is a lying snake. 

You wreched creature, you. 

Your drowning consciousness lives twice. 

Inverted and twisted you writhe in a pool of filth. 

Simplicity is not your forte. 

In fact, it escapes your reach. 

And goodness how you reach. 

You wreched creature, you.