Living Is Dying

 

Making a whisper of damages
Confessions are useless to admit
Making false advances to improve
To tell the truth I think I'm counterfeit

Aimless prayers spoken to the void
Letters written with intent to reach an ear
In all honesty no hell is worth the sin enjoyed
What I hate about myself is the end I fear

Hard questions and uneasy answers
With good reason for the doubt
As to deny myself or the divine
Cast out the devil or throw me out

Intimidation factors of unsettling thoughts
Part of the suffering of damnation is never seeing the ones we love
Whether I descend into the pit of false promise
Or inherit a place, seated up above

Separation anxiety without the cure of an embrace
Absent here forevermore, my present hell is my inability to see you face to face
Learning to cope with the reality of every moment I feel the loss
When living is dying and surviving is what it means to bear my cross...