Paper Confessions

I often find myself falling in love with my demons. Their ambitious tongues find romance in my sexual desires and promote those wicked urges that thrives within the darkest voids that I possess. They cradle the anxiety that consumes me, collapsing on my chest and barricading my respiratory organs.

I’m suffocating.

Liquid temptation has been introduced as a heavy advocate, driving my sins to a point of no redemption. Desolate bottles of miscellaneous liquor remain a despondent reminder of the saturated life I have allowed myself to fall into. I find myself hydrated with my 80 proof poison, hallucinating and fabricating a life for myself that I will never find, and while surrounded by the ‘campus machines’ that roam around the night, I finally realize I have lost all purpose in my life.

The Devil is here, swimming cynically in the whiskey that I drink and he’s the cologne holding the neck of the sacrificial fuck lying next to me after my one-night stand.

Once alone, I sit in darkness praying for morning when I can continue my days convincing myself that God is real. I have grown to love how much I hate myself, and while I try to hide my own convictions, the mirrors in my house lurk around every corner, waiting to show face to the piece of shit that I have let myself become. Are my prayers even being heard? Or are they being reciprocated with the laughs and humiliation of past ghosts? I’m not sure what happened or when I lost absolute control, but it was fast. I was a succeeding train wreck waiting for someone to take my place while I let myself burn and self-implode back into your holy soil. I have let myself become a black void with no amount of excess emotion to share with this world. I’m not even sure if I can tell you what love is anymore. I haven’t loved in a very long time. The only love that I have can be bought at my local convenience store and it holds me best between the hours of 2am and 4.

My human vessel was created as nothing more than an audible corpse awaiting my irrefutable fate of disintegration; or so I now tell myself. I’m scared off Him. I can hear his voice and feel his presence fighting for me, trying to aid in my battle with the Devil, but my temptations often deem more triumphant. I try and talk to the Lord, asking for help and guidance throughout my life but my words, although perceptible, hold no value. His judgements loom over me like the clouds in a brooding storm. His eyes holding me tight, keeping score of all my fuck ups and mistakes; and while I have let myself become so devoid of color, there are no amount of good deeds or principled actions to save my soul from the Hell fire I have let consume me.

Mathew 6:24 No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.

Here I stand, staring death in the face, waiting for my sign. I’m begging, fucking begging you to help me and you’re not listening! I have reached a point of no redemption and you have let me

burn down to the final fabrics of my wick and you’re still not here. I’m looking to you, Heavenly Father, to perform some type of reverent miracle, as you have done to your many apostles before, and you’ve abandoned me. Are you even real? If you are, then why haven’t you fucking helped me?

I know I haven’t been the best daughter and I know your expectations have never been met, but I tried and you were never here. You let me fail, letting my earthly sins devour my soul and this was my last chance. I need you, my cheeks running wild with the tears of a failed child and the barrel of a Smith and Wesson resting on the fibers of my teeth. It’s truly incredible how hollow your thoughts become right before you kill yourself, maybe even worthless or just incomprehensible, either way there’s no ‘life flashed before me’ moment.

There’s just you pulling the trigger of a loaded gun.