the days are lit with a sanguine sun

One of the excerpts from a spiritual battle:

I don't remember what normal life is like. I used to have a better concept when I was younger and more pure. I think as we experience the filtered life of decay and corruption, these purities come out less. It's amazing how much a person can appear to be by what they avoid showing others. I have so many secrets that they don't fit into my closets anymore, and they are overflowing like the stench of rotting corpses under the floorboards. I'm screaming and vomiting tears while smiling and laughing at your jokes. I wash the inside of this mask every night with the salty solution that seems never to stop flowing from my eyes. I've induced my mind to transcend above this ritual and appear to be at peace in this world, floating above the sadness but being possessed by it. But I have wasted away already, gaunt and pallid like a christmas ghost. No one will save me, no one has noticed or explained how things work in reality. I can't figure them out anymore, I need to explode. I need to destroy something, burn my pain onto something that is more concrete than what I perceive in my world. Everything is an illusion, and I can't bear to face anyone anymore with a genuine response. It has fallen apart, I am no longer this reiterated persona, redefined Self. I cannot compromise myself any longer, yet these obsessive delusions trapped within my inner being will spill out into the world if I don't lock myself up. I am the Pandora's box. Kneeling beside it, I am perspiring with the burden to keep it closed. I no longer know who I am trying to protect, myself or the world, yet this futile effort seems to suck my essence dry. Father, I am crying out to you but I don't feel like you hear me. I can't do this any longer. I am dying inside. I am losing my soul to the devil himself. I am losing this battle. I am so angry that You have not helped me in any part of my life, it sometimes appears. Why did You let this happen to me? Why do You expect so much from me? Why did You allow my life to become such a mess and me o become this ugly insignificant insect of a human. Why Lord, did You create me? I am such a failure and a worthless shit that can't straighten anything in my life worth shit. I am shit. I am shit. I can't live right. I can't please anyone, least of all myself. I deserve... I want to die, Lord. I want this pain to stop and these demons to stop harrassing me. I can't see You anymore, You are hiding from me because I've failed you and You are punishing me because I'm so worthless. Why do I have these thoughts so frequently when I know they're not true? Why do I believe them? I don't know what to do. I don't want my life anymore. It's Yours, do what You will Lord and save this tortured soul. Free me from the chains of my own sins and expectations. I am nothing. Father please help me.

Black hole, White hole

There is another fire in my throat, traveling down to the pit of my stomach. It burns my esophagus and writhes uncontrollably when i swallow food. Little elves like to pay homage to it during the winter, dancing in circles with their melodious bell steps, but i shut my ears and eyes to make them disappear. I hope it snows somewhere above me so the shavings of sky ice can flutter their way to me. I hope my open mouth can capture enough to extinguish this infernal, this diabolic heat. Are these serpent flames missed synapses of my damaged nerves, or my imagination's revenge?

Think, are you a product of an unfulfilled ambition? Are you the consequence of someone else's rebellion? I am a figment of existence. Existence is a vast surface of fluid, clear and taut in its pious stillness, or a thrashing, unmerciful beast. As time allows my frame to clot in the veins of life, the world incorporates me. But how are you formed and engraved onto this filmy existence?

Sometimes my mind shuts down because these of this pain, these flammable expectations. The sound of my burning ideals is like music to the enemy. He warms his fingers in our hellish voids. Humans are unique because we have eternity dwelling in a temporary shell. Our souls, containing the two portals to heaven and hell, agonizes as they seek for the One thing to satisfy these infinte vacuums. Sometimes I visit hell within myself and the luring darkness that begs to consume, lording over us to become lords. I am not a lord, but merely a receiving creation who aches for the love of her Maker. If He is for us, who can be against us?

Purple of life

they overcome me in my serenity, the purple stripes
that grasp my reason and bruise my will
But circles they trace
in my fingerprints and irises
To confirm the destiny i have
the condemnation i deserve
the irreversible system of genetic bureacracy
and defeat i can never escape

I never figured how a simple arrangement
of the four little letters
of the DNA that describes me
could be so lethal
it is the letter that kills, but the Spirit
that gives life and life I am afraid to live
is the only chance to acquire eternity, is transience

They swoop around my rotting soul with beady eyes
and breathe in my insanity
my heart is faint and murmuring in stolid slumber
to gratify their hellish hunger
But from their glinting beaks play a silver song
So poetic and enchanting, chemical
Flesh, aroused and nude, obsessed

"Here you are mine,
here you are home." until I listen, until i believe
but I don't.

I don't belong to you anymore.
Leave me alone.
My body will decay, but my spirit will live.

Everything happens at night, in the cold

i walked into a snowy place where the sun
crystallized into a diamond eye
and phantom symphonies played a blue frost

i defined the thin air with my breath
the diamond touched my face with an icy flame
while the rhapsody froze my ears

i remember the proud castle i lived in
and you visited me for a short while
through the stonewall windows, icicles

i crept past my sullen ancestors like a nocturnal deer
and skipped over the creaking stairs
but it was always dark maroon in the echoing halls

the moonlight makes everything lovely
even the broken in captivity, the silent walls
and the dead silhouettes

drunk with the smell of aftershave
the fluttering heart is an illusion induced by your desire
but it comforted me for the night, like the others

i see your shivering mass in blue shadows
your eyelashes reflect the gleaming streets
that flicker with our pulses and murmurs, motions

i hate feeling weak but you will go back to switzerland and i will
forget you like every time we ever met
so why are we playing this scene again?

it only makes me compromise what i've already earned
too bad i'm not like the rest, and i don't need it anymore
your words and integrity are charming but
they are not true, like the love of my Lord

fly away to your land, baby
my fantasia has been invaded by the Sword
and the foliage is beginning to sprout warmth
breaking the spell that bound me to the winter

to the obsessions of the night