Just a Dead Pretender

I did all the wrong things.
I said all the wrong things.
All the wrong things are mine
And now you’ll be damned if I’m not crucified for them.

Father forgive me,
For I know not what I do.

In three days I’ll still be dead.
Heart beating, eyes empty.

You said some day you hoped you’d find faith.
I still don’t know what you meant.

“If it makes you feel better.”


I don't understand pain like you do.
I understand the sharpness of words
and I understand that they'll poison you if left in
but they all have barbs.
I just don't want to bleed to death...
I'd rather have fingerprint bruises than have my skin ripped out from the inside.
I'd also rather not be poisoned.
So I'm kind of at a loss as to what I should do.

Words...
you quote them.
I feel them.
But they're just words...