Wake me when this is over.
When i’ve swallowed the knife and we’ve laid waste to my promise.
Resuscitate my lungs afterward.
Though eyes i may close, sleep is never the next act to follow.

And it’s only me and you, you and me.
Ignoring the sirens in the distance.
Play my veins like a guitar as sweat spells the crescendo.
One last time before it’s all over.
And then one last time for old time’s sake.
And after that, one more for new beginnings.
Always for new beginnings.

When this is over, you’ll be a cigarette burning my finger.
Where can i find an ashtray?

A shadow hangs below this last vestige of animation, threatening to pull me beneath the asphalt,

Embracing me to the cold, sun-forsaken hearth.

In the dark, blood fuses with the sweat and the taste it makes is something short of bliss.

To understand the sensation to be similar to what He tasted in His last;

A diluted red swell ebmracing my tongue with the delicacy of a serprentine vine.

For a thousand unanswered prayers to be caught up in the winds of despair,

Orbiting and propelling through the gutters and alleyways of our world asunder,

Would stir up such a gust as to remind us all of why the heroes lie in coffins beneath our devalued keepsakes.

Christ of crushed hopes, resurrect me.

Christ of heartbreak, mend where You see fit.

Christ of wrath, lay waste to my inadequacy in the way only You can.

Where apathy, awaken a fervor.

Where contentment, stir a fire beneath my feet.

Where shame, shine the light.

In weakness, make me strong.

In fear, may You overcome.

In words, may You speak.

In my cold, stale heart, selfish bastard of my supposed will, make a home.

In my heart, remind me what home feels like.

Arise and smell the ashes of misery.

Where salvation leaks like a sieve;

Spoiled and diluted into the pale waters of lost opportunity.

Be my saving grace,

A last hope for vagrant’s sake.

In my kingdom of lies.

my world of mistakes.

i can barely contain

In this frail tin pale of mine.

Where Your words leak like wine

From torn skins to pour over and out

Onto undeserving hands clenched in fists.

How can just my little brain

Contain all the world’s rain

And claim to understand the nature of clouds and solstices?

Where there’s doubt and there’s fear;

Mystery and pain,

Where could i ask the unquestionable

For an answer i, as a vessel, could bear?

If she’s the chalice and You’re the wine,

How does sustenance overcome thirst

In a town where the well is a broken cistern?

we’ll pray for rain.

Pray for the downpour to sweep us away.

But what we really want is You, God of Hope.

Oh, for a chance to dance with mercy;

To embrace compassion in this dystopia

Would be to let this cup overflow.

i can’t contain all that You are

Or all i can become.

But pour on.

Please, God of Peace, pour on.

Battered and bruised; searching for land.

Past the point of no return, i’m sailing where maps can never whisper their secrets.

Is this a place even Your hands can’t reach?

How far is too far away to feel Your touch?

Sometime i swear right here is too far from where You are.

Others i can’t get away fast enough.

Do i turn back?

Can i turn back now?

Or do i follow this down?

If by chance i see heaven on the other side,

i’m sure the trail will be littered with a thousand floating mariners lost at sea.

And if i can venture forward through an ocean of corpses,

How do i keep from joining their sad song?

Can we still run from death while sleeping in coffins?

i’m a dirge without a voice, hanging on the lips of a mute.