Some find solace in their prayers for me,
They beg for me to receive forgiveness.
Their very kind and well-intentioned plea,
Screamed into their mind's endless nothingness.

I plead for similar absolution.
Although it answers to another name.
Their prayers, real as my obsession,
Are, to me, somehow deserving of blame.

I am but a hypocritical fraud,
Comforted by a fabricated lie,
Yet I condemn their fabricated God.
All while I constantly indemnify.

My god comes from deep within my own soul.
A god with unassailable control.

My thoughts peel away
Like burnt skin:

Seared by the cynical sun,
A victim of his invisible ray.

To that sun, which promises a guiding light
As a pretense for his deadly assault,

We cannot assign fault.
For how could he know what was right?

He is more trustworthy than any friend,
Yet he cares not for any man.

By his light I travel far from whence I began,
Yet, from my skin, I see to him I am no end.

If only I would follow him from the shade,
I could avoid all this pain.

He makes his intentions quite plain,
It is only I who maintains this charade.

I am broken.
Everything feels wrong.
I hurt everything I love.
I do nothing but rot.

I can be more.
I want to be more.
I strive to enjoy each day;
To be happy just to be alive.

Every little choice makes a difference;
Either bringing me closer or pushing me farther away.
I want to be pulled tight into the embrace of peace.
I must walk towards it.