cathedral confessions

father, 

I am afraid of myself. 

There is growing pain in me,

A hunger, a thirst, a suffering,

And it is swallowing me. 

I am sick, I have a disease,

Can you heal me? 

Can you give me a miracle?

Is there enough faith to fix me?

I believe- 

I believe- 

I swear I believe. 

Is it going to save me? 

father,

When I walk, 

I walk along a black path. 

I balance my life delicately,

In my hands is a scale-

Yet it is never even. 

I always weigh both too much,

And not close to enough. 

What do I do with this?

I feel on edge, on the tipping point,

So close to falling off the end. 

father,

My heart is like a hole,

It sucks in everything around me 

It is never enough. 

I still need more- I still am starving- 

Is this what living feels like? 

To always be empty,

No matter how much is poured in? 

Is it even worth loving me,

If I will always desire for more?

father,

I don’t like myself. 

I don’t enjoy this feeling. 

I don’t want to destroy everything

In an attempt to fill myself up. 

My ribs stick out and I consider

Them battle scars from holding 

Myself back, but I don’t know How 

much longer I can keep doing this. 

Can I be forgiven for giving in? 

Can I be forgiven for letting my hunger win?

Can I be forgiven at all? 

        - famine sits in a confessional for the first and last time, full on guilt and hungry for mercy.