I am Every Mistake the Devil Ever Made

2014-09-20 07:17 AM

A sharp loneliness echoes like the autumn wind,
cutting through all the armor I could ever wear.
Maybe these razor blades are the only way
to reach the deeper layers of myself,
the ones that I've always tried to shield.

My bones hunger for movement,
and my off-beat heart makes music
out of the anxious screams
of the ghosts of my past catching up to me,
and I can't seem to outrun the pain.

O pitiful sub-human shades,
I've already tried abandoning my humanity.
Yet they linger in my periphery, constantly,
and their corruption plants seeds of self-deceit
in my bitter lack of trust in any future promised to me.

Forcing this infection of the spirit to spread
inside of me with every beating pulse,
robbing me of all my safety, and leaving me
exposed - vulnerable - alone.
Fragile. Weak. Faithless.

I am every mistake the Devil ever made,
drinking other people's hopes and dreams like gasoline,
with the misguided notions of that at least that way
I'd be able to set my insides on fire
and feel a fiery passion in my chest for a change.

But I can't cleanse my face of this hypocritical shame,
even as I create artworks of the funeral caskets
for all of the Guardian Angels I murdered
in exchange for bizarre short-term pleasures,
because I'm a master at turning sins into bad faith.

And yet...
I'm stuck here.
Stuck in a place
where repentance
seems completely alien.

It feels like I'm swallowing broken glass
with every breath I take,
exhaling chaos and coughing up red love lost;

Hoping that it will lacerate my lungs,
because I've already lost any reason
to continue breathing.