Last night was another session of regression
He’s about to repeat the same sin at the same scene despite the repercussions.
He’s tired of sinning, tired of rehearsing the same insanity.
He’s tired of being a devoted slave child to vanity.
Fatigued from all the atrocity.
It’s hard to get things off your chest, cause it’s hard to bench press the temptations.
It’s like every night is a date with evil.
I feel like my calendar schedule was planned by the devil.
No spaces and vacancies for a righteous revival.
Virtues can’t topple the vices
And the sins are climbing higher than fuel prices
Higher than polls, yet I can’t win any vote of confidence.
He wishes he could flee the guilt, but the heart is an inescapable residence.
Feels like the guilt stocks his wardrobe and fills his fragrance.
Everywhere he goes, he wears them feeling like a hypocrite.
Clearly he can see his religion slowly slipping away in secret.
So he can’t visit the Holy Scriptures anymore with a clean conscience and without interference.
The guilt won’t allow him… always demanding a gate clearance.
He buries his hope in the doubt that God will reject his repentance.
He can’t remember the last time he was a guest at the sanctuary.
Though he used to be a tenant and pledged residence till his obituary.
But the guilt of sin will promise to evict him with all possible interventions.
So much that he’s losing hope about the privileges of a sinner’s redemption
Or the blessings of a believer’s salvation,
All he rather thinks about is God’s wrath and condemnation.
He’d rather the devil be his council than God be his attorney.
Cause he’s fed up of going back on all the promises and covenants.
So he wonders if all his credits of forgiveness are all stale, depleted and quaint.
And he wonders if he could borrow the favors of a Holy saint.
Heart stomping like a stampede from the feet of African elephants.
Pounding in terrible fear… so loud and evident
In grief that today will be the end of my time, and that his book of deeds have nothing relevant.
I know my mind is a confessions box, and I know God hears me whenever I meditate.
Cause the mind is a temple, even though there are crevices everywhere in this huge estate.
Never feel like you’re too devil enough to ask for a clean slate.
Nobody is free from sin, none of the nuns.
Not the priests nor the preacher man.
The best of sinners are those who go back to their Lord for forgiveness… regardless of everything else.
so Lord forgive me...