Times like these that call for prayers from drunken housewives. Is the devils fork tongued sermon suited to my life? I cross my fingers behind my back and walk quietly along this funeral procession. I stabbed God in the back and laughed as he created us, I buried loves eyes in the trenches of the honeymoon suite, I scaled the wall to wave a white flag in defeat, I'm driving our memorial off these very cliffs.
This guilt can eat you alive and this path will destroy your life and be damn sure that we will act a noose around your heart. Your ash deconstructs my sunsets to a point of beautiful aggression; I can't hot-wire this heart into one final ignition.
The very first casualty of this war was the truth and the devil just snuck out the back door with my soul. Prison cells await me for the hearts that I break, a silver key on the belt of the guard with the hearts I long to take. Prepare my body and give it up to heaven and stutter the drunken prayers to God for her to be a widow. Call the ocean make him part room for my grave. Decades will pass before you ever hear from me.
I crawled to confession booths dripping in sins that even hell itself would frown upon with judging eyes. The once loving arms of repentances now hold a smoking gun to the back of our polluted heads.
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