Thoughts

I failed again last night. Fell into the pits of death and darkness in sin. I knew the moment it happened, knew it was over for me. The light of hope extinguished, the spirit of peace vacated the temple leaving behind only a pile of clay. In the absence of light darkness has crept in and made itself a home in my bones. I wanted to cry, infact after a while for a while its all i could do. I couldn't pray, still can't, in my sin i pieced together the veil of the temple that was torn when Christ died separating myself from his gift of salvation, hiding myself in the garden of eden when God came calling i ate the forbidden fruit.
There is no mercy for me this time because this time i went in knowingly with eyes wide open i took the leap straight down into my personal pit of hell.
The guilt weighs heavy on my chest like a 30tonne truck going nowhere fast choking me up with shame and self loathing.
My help, my circle, the ears at my disposal are "holy" ears that will not understand or forgive my fall from grace when all our interactions are laced with scripture and righteous presentation all of it designed to keep from going down this path. The church, it is only home when you are faking the straight and keeping all else hidden so i could fit right in except my walk was never about seeking comfort in religion but in Christ. The struggle is real.
Like butchers leading sheep to the slaughter you skipped the gospel in your teachings and sermons. All of you in your suits and ties talking about your perfect lives purposefully omitting Romans 3:23 on how we all fall short. Never once teaching confession or repentance like David in Psalm 51 you just want to tell me how God will make my money long. Why aren't you telling people who's hope is gone about his mercies that are made new every day? Traded the truth of the gospel for loud crowds and television slots and having just one more twitter follower is now worth more than a mans soul. Weren't you told to be fishers of the very man you tossing into a sea of despair? And here i was thinking Christ came for the ratchet. Like me.

Petals on the bed that is my Grave

A toast to us.

In our hands champagne glasses, this is after all a celebration.

Keeping eye contact, both anxiously excited about what the rest of the night holds we take the first sip.

The smell of the crimson coloured liquid, a metallic ting, like raw iron and earth. It tastes the way it smells with faint sweetness I wasn't expecting.

Its perfect. I finally understand why vampires are unapologetic. 

He's ordering for me; our starter is "brain", human is best I am told. Its been smoked with mind numbing gas. Goes perfect with the "blood" in our glasses. The main course is the chefs signature dish, spiked "heart" laced with feelings and seasoned with a hint of emotion and my favourite dessert, "souls" baked at low heat and glazed with caramel sauce, served on a plate of illusion. It couldn't be more perfect if Cinderellas' godmother planned it herself.

Fast forward into the night, high on blood, I mean wine. Full on hearty chunks of premium human flesh and organ we are home. His home. I've been here before but tonight is special. We have waited a long time for this, 31 days to be exact. I have lingerie on, got it for this occasion, blades disguised as pieces of silk and lace woven to look like a layer of skin. I have never looked more dangerous-ly desirable. He's looking at me, peels his eyes away for a second to look at the box of condoms beside the bed, or was that a shovel? 

He reaches out to touch me and pierces a large hole in my shoulder, Edward Scissor-hands? His other hand reaches out to stroke my hair and the axe he holds pierces a hole at the base of my skull. With every touch I bleed but I cant think, left my mind on the dinner table and the rest of it still trying to find its way inside of me. The chef lied when he said the illusion wasn't potent because I still believe I am living a fairytale. My skin drenched with liquid that cannot be blood because I had that with my dinner, I reach out to return his touch. Draped in blades I slice him on impact. We are at war. Killing each other with every touch, tearing flesh and breaking each other limb by limb. Its okay though, this is why "soul" remains my favourite dessert. But wait, before we take each others breathe away, let take the shovel beside the bed and dig our graves. 

PS. this is us today. Satisfying our carnal mind at the expense of our souls.

The Black in the Rose

I recently came across an article comparing the womb of a woman to the holy of holies in scripture.
Brief history lesson;Holy of Holies was the innermost and most sacred area of the ancient tabernacle of Moses and temple of Jerusalem. The Holy of Holies was constructed as a perfect cube. It contained only the Ark of the Covenant, the symbol of Israel’s special relationship with God. The Holy of Holies was accessible only to the Israelite high priest. Once a year, on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the high priest was permitted to enter the small, windowless enclosure to burn incense and sprinkle the blood of a sacrificial animal on the mercy seat of the Ark. By doing so, the high priest atoned for his own sins and those of the people.
The comparison;" Just as no one other than the High Priest could enter the Holy of Holies and live, so the so- called “priest” in marriage is the only one blessed to enter a woman’s womb.  If any other man trespasses, it means partial death to his soul and often his body, too."
I could sit here and ask "why didn't anyone tell me this before?" But that would be hypocrisy because truth is i probably heard it a thousand different ways i just didn't stop to listen. Wouldn't if you paid me.
Truth is, (and try not to judge or do, whatever works really) i couldn't be bothered! Couldn't understand what the fuss was about, in fact i hated the fuss. The men, all of them hounding you like dogs on heat just watching and waiting for you to slip. How they'd trip all over themselves trying to come up with the most tired lines just to get the "precious".
Now before you start thinking i hated the fuss so i ignored it and shut it down let me stop you right there, no, it was such a pain i decided to get it over and done with. So i went with the next guy that came along. Easy on the eyes, kissable lips- thats all that mattered, mind so slow i could fool him into believing it was his idea but a player so we could both walk away with just a handshake. (Ps. Do i sound like a man right now? I feel like I do, anyway....) 
Fast forward, lots of alcohol later we are in his room and the guy wants to start talking (a big shout out to brewers around the world) so this has to be over fast. And it is. Painful and messy and uncomfortable and just plain horrid. And im more confused than ever because really? Really? Really? And he asking if i want to go again? No i am not that far gone into the business of misery. Worst minute of my female existance (no hard feelings If you happen to read this, it is my hope that you have gotten better with time) but on the bright side i did walk away with a handshake. On the not so bright side to this day there's nothing that makes me walk away faster and easier than a bad sexual experience.  Maybe we are all damaged.
Years later; the article or the holy of holies, heartbreak and pain, new lessons and knowledge of love and living all under my belt. Knowing life as i know it now, i simply cannot believe anyone who says they have no regrets. Given the opportunity to do it all over again, bet we'd all be standing at different doors. Id like to think so anyway, but then i find im sometimes in denial about how hazardous humans are to themselves.