Hang the blessed cross upon the wall
And I'll pray to it each night
Putting my eggs into one overflowing basket
So that they may fall back to earth
And crack upon my broken head every night
Good things come to the faithful
Or so they repeat over and over
As if it were a broken record
And they were trying to scratch it upon my mind
"God will save your eternal soul"
A decaying soul is not worth saving
Bloody wrists and bloody hearts
What is dead cannot be resurrected
What is dying has not been saved
Where was God when the knife was at my throat?
Graces distributed to all but the desparate
Who are left with silent screams for help
Trudging into the black chasm
To be consumed by their internal darkness
The pious light within has gone astray
Leaving the cesspools of dark to stir in its wake
A.S
YOU ARE READING
Another Tragic Story
PoetryA collection of the thoughts and feelings I'm too afraid to share. These words are things I see, hear, taste, and feel. These are the words of my life on a page, this is the tragedy I see.
