We're all hypocrites
preaching word of God.
It's not what you do
Monday to Friday, 9 - 5,
that interests me,
it's how you choose to spend
your Saturday nights
alone.
And more times than not,
you'll find the preachers
spanked up in a brothel
or in the neighbours bed
when the one who placed
that ring upon their finger
thought they were walking the dog.
Wear an 18 karat gold cross,
hang all the Live. Laugh. Love pictures
around the family home
and go to church on Sunday's,
but everyone knows
they sit on that prostitutes hand print
she left on his xss.
They sit lopsided too.
That handkerchief doesn't fool anyone.
They only carry it for the paranoia
that residue crack they snorted
off her chest still lingers
around their perfectly trimmed nostrils.
We're all hypocrites
preaching word of our own religions
and changing the bedsheets
every fxckxng morning.

my dear don't
    be afraid to
    take flight and
    call out for help
we will and
    have promised to
    protect you,
    on our word
a samurai will
    and never will he
    abandon his orders
    *to protect you

I can't fix my thinking
With my own thinking.
I judge myself
based on what I'm doing.
When I behave differently...
My beliefs were irrational
and I cant judge myself accordingly.
What would I look like to someone just basing me off my actions?
To give someone an opportunity
Frees me not them
Language is the link
to everything I need

I have run in fear of hierarchy and seudo embrace - to lay hands upon embroidered skin,
skin so arbitrarily tainted that it smells of innocent seas and eloquent loss.
I discovered ignorantly hand stitched protest that formed naivety in effortless waves.
An effort so void of physical touch and second sight,
that it resembles a vastness that once drowned the lesser version of my inhabitants.
I climbed mountains in length to hang upon a crucifix made of passion and scrutiny,
a comfort known by none but a malicious compliance requested by authority,
only to regenerate the secrecy of silence.

Your beliefs or sin, don't affect this salvation of mine
Unless I judge you, and I am unkind

"We fight war for peace!"
Contradictory.
"Their evil won't cease!"*
Based on what I see,

You bomb these countries,
Making refugees
Who just want to flee
This whole travesty.

People helplessly
Leave all these cities
Because you destroyed
Everything they've known.

With sinless lives, you wrongly toyed.
It seems "their evil's" not alone.

I don't know what to believe in,
Or if I believe in anything at all.
But the only thing keeping me alive,
Is the fear of life after death.
Or is it just emptiness that will consume my soul.
No pain or punishment,
For taking my own life.
I feel the loneliness destroy me.
Filling my mind with thoughts of suicide.
Searching for a way out,
While longing for a reason to stay.

The superstitious,
all and about
But who, that gullible?
Come forth ye,
and lend me your ears!
I tell of a superstitious being!

Born and raised she was,
with the superstitious act,
was it external?
Or internal?

She told once her superstitions,
one out of numerous times,
what doubt I was in!

The superstition dumbfound itself,
hearken her superstitions!
The pride she carries within them!

Shed all the pain of past hurtings,
It taints your furure,
Forgive.

Remove fear of future disappointments,
It  denys you laughter,
Believe.