I’ve lost all hope a thousand times before 

But with every fall, it’s a little more

No one knows just how deep these hooks go

But I do

I don’t know how to break these chains

Because I’ve tried and prayed everything

I am on my way down to the grave

God forgive me, for all that I am

And teach me, to be more than human

Cuz I am living at the end of my life

And I know that I am going to die
Was it always meant to be this way

I have wondered every single day

I tried so hard to right my mistakes

But I never thought that I’d pay

A price so high

With my life
I know I can’t break these chains

Tried a thousand times, there is no way

I’m on my way down to the grave 

I fought the war and washed the blood away each day

Just to find that there was no other way

You are the only one who knows my pain

God deliver me, from all that I all

And relieve me from being human

Cuz I am living in my last days

And without a miracle

I will fade away
I’m sorry that I would throw my life away

But all I want to find anymore is an escape

Never thought it could get so bad

That all I want is to forfeit all I have

Just know with this breath now

You’re not the only one that I’ve let down
God forgive me, for all that I am

And teach me, to be more than human

Cuz I am living the end of my life

And I know that I am going to die. 


      As per usual, sleep did not find me for the remainder of that night- or at least I felt fairly certain it had not.  But lying there on my side, staring into nothing, thinking on everything; I swore I was awake when I saw the light outside the door blink out. 

I decided to start using the restless night hours to write- or at least trying to figure out what it was that I was supposed to write. I had been told countless times ever since grade school that I ought to write some kind of book but I’d never felt- and still didn’t- that I had anything anyone would even give a shit about in the recesses of my dark mind. 

            I couldn’t help but think of the man who gave me this journal all those years ago, a grey haired gentleman who randomly asked to pray for me- I was just dropping by a random church, trying to find some kind of subconscious penance or I don’t know what- so I didn’t very well feel that I could say no. He began to speak in an odd language that didn’t sound like anything I could recognize, and told me all kinds of things about myself that I had obviously never shared with this stranger. He insisted on laying hands on me, and I felt incredibly awkward, but also curious. I’d since forgotten many of the little things he told me, but through the years I had never lost the vision in my head of him telling me to “write down everything that happens”, and gave me the blank journal I now held in my hands. I didn’t even open it until a few years later to notice tucked into the spine of the pages a scarlet ribbon. 

      All I had managed to write so far was a whiney, long ass “prayer” in the back of the book. I never really prayed formally as it were, but I guess writing it down there I could look back to see if He would actually even answer anything I asked. I hadn’t really asked *for* much in a long time, because I was so used to everything being a no; and didn’t really let myself need much anyways.

I took a moment to think what I needed right now. I knew praying wasn’t about getting what we wanted, but there wasn’t anything He didn’t know about my “life”, and pretty much everyone I knew who was a decent person was getting fucked without lube, so to try and be altruistic and just pray for other people quickly turned into more of a convoluted list of basically “help the whole world, amen.” but maybe *I* would get a yes this time after 100 no’s. 

“get me out of here please.”

I added the please after a minute, but that was all I wrote this time.  Yet looking down at the thin red letters, it simply didn’t carry the kind of desperate urgency I always felt inside. I unfastened one of the devil rings from my ear, pressed the point into my skin to produce a few drops of blood, dipped the pen, and retraced over the words. So I’m sure God’s not a fan of my style, but it was a language I could understand. 

 I dated the first two entries. “OK. I’m testing you again..” I whispered. 

I laid down and simply stared back out at that solitary streetlight.

P.11 the Red Letters

It was another acquaintance from the internet. We had actually met up a couple times and got along fairly well; our conversations were predominantly theological in nature, and he seemed like a simple guy-ultimately, a “good Christian guy” as I had been told countless times I needed in my life. Maybe they were right, but no matter how much we talked or hung out- I couldn’t feel anything for him beyond the affection you would have for a puppy or little brother. I had taken to simply claiming asexuality to save myself the explaining my perpetually disinterested singleness to anyone. Surprisingly, he had never given up anyways; but most peculiar was when he got talking- I don’t think he ever knew how much of what he said was put into his mind for a reason. It was always like God was telling on me to him or something to try to say loud and clear that He got my message, because his words were always verbatim to what I had said in my own heart or closet spaces. I had been isolating for the last year or so and had barely spoken to him either, but sure enough,

“GooooodEveeeeeniiing Beautiful! Your story, no matter how rough and painful it may be, no matter how dark and depressing it may seem, I promise you that one day it will be your testimony.

You will be the light to many people in darkness because of what you went through, I can’t speak as to why God has taken you down such a rough path, that’s between you and him and I’m sure the answer will come soon enough- but I can say it is with what you have learned and experienced that light will soon Save many.

You may think you’re weak but you’re the strongest and most disciplined person I know, a role model in a sense, someone I can look up to and reflect on and my times of need. Someone that always teaches me something new.

I know you haven’t lost Faith and I know you haven’t given up, though your mind and flesh try to tell you that your heart says loud and clear “I still believe, I’m still holding on” that’s the message you speak.

You have a bright light that shines only from you, don’t forget that. Please continue to stay strong and don’t let your flesh convince you to lose hope, your purpose is great and I have no doubt that soon all this stuff that seems bad will begin to fade away and you’ll understand. God has not forgotten nor does he ever forget, if you a human can still love people who’ve wronged you how much more do you think our Creator loves us? He’s here and he’s listening, bear with this pain and make it your own, your story, your testimony because it’s part of you. Let’s look forward to a brighter tomorrow and move on to a better day, let’s smile because I know you have it in you I can see it clearly. Let’s be strong because the good fight isn’t an easy one to win. I’m here for you as well don’t ever forget that though I’m an idiot at times. God loves you and always will. Love is powerful, love is light, love is healing, love is faith, love is strength, love simply is. So love and be loved, be healed, be strong. Do what you know you have to do, it’s there, that feeling I’m sure. Much love. You have my ear and  shoulder.”

I know I should’ve felt a number of things, and maybe I did feel a flash of something good- but it actually set in my veins the fire of the ever-present rage I always hid; what I used to drive myself through another day. I’d been told to wait so many goddamn times, and it sure felt like I had been holding my breath for so long; swimming to the next “marker buoy” in a lifetime of feeling perpetually lost at sea, just to be thrown a fucking bone here and there that always ended up just being a carrot on a string when I got there- like trying keep sand from running out of your hands. I’d been told to “just hold on”, that there was hope for *so* many years; but all that had ultimately happened was the situation grew more dismal and painful with every passing year. And I had already lost the greater part of my youth.

I pitched my phone out over the edge and into the brush far below, loosed the rope from around my neck, and followed suit down into the dirt. I ran back along all of the darkened houses, down the street, and out into the hills on a pitch black, moonless summer’s night.

What was the fucking point?

Of course my life wasn’t the worst it could get- But I had nothing in my life that made me feel anything but the suffering it wasn’t worth enduring for ; and that’s all life was anymore- enduring for nothing; no hope or future. I had lost everything but the monetary support of my parents- and though I was trying to pay back a little with disability money, at my age it was getting embarrassing. I didn’t want to be in this situation at 30, and I had told myself, so sure, that I’d get out of all of this five years ago. But everything had only gotten unimaginably worse since then, and I had practically lost my mind in the process of unintentionally dismantling every facet of the life I once had, and taken for granted.

I couldn’t see anything, but I didn’t need to; I had spent the years aimlessly wandering these mountains. I ran, faster than I ever had in my life, continuing for likely over the next hour, screaming all of these things up at the same tenebrous sky that I wore beneath my skin.

I settled down atop the mountain, in a random concrete storm gutter, took a safety pin from the bottom hem of my pants, and ran it though my eyebrow. I saw a light levitating across the distance, coming toward me. I wiped the blood from my eye to look closer. It was a sphere of light, or maybe a ball of electricity, 2-3 feet across, sparking with a barely perceptible blue tinge. I don’t know what it was, but the moment it reached near enough for me to reach out to try and touch it, it exploded out into a flash of light that lit up the entire sky white. I had seen this before, I  thought, before drifting into a short sleep.

p.9 the Red Letters

I stood up, walked down along the brick wall a bit further, and threw the rope up over an overhanging tree branch I could just barely reach after a couple tries.

“Why did this all have to be so fucking hard? ” I said aloud. I guess to God. 

They say if you talk to God you’re religious, but if God talks to you, you’re psychotic. Needless to say, I was hesitant to tell anyone how I knew the things I sometimes did. I suppose anyone living long enough in isolation would learn to better hear the unheard and see the unseen. Though questioning my own sanity was by no means out of my constant consideration.

Given my Christian upbringing and that being a faith I still fundamentally maintained; one of theology’s most unsettled subjects in my opinion were the questions why God created or allowed certain humans to exist; contrasting God’s omniscience with our coexisting free will. Where was the separation between freedom, consequence, punishment, and fate (or more aptly,  the predestined will of God prepared beforehand)? Why did God allow- or furthermore essentially consent- lives such as Mao Zedong, Adolf Hitler, or the most wicked of criminals? However, this is given the assumption that God “grades” evil on a curve scale in the same fashion that we do. Which biblically, either argument could certainly be made; but on a smaller scale- and presently omitting any deistic arguments for a universe of sheer chance-  I had long wondered why God, already fully aware of the outcome of our freewill, chose the bring forth the potential souls that would end up doing such heinous things to others- or even to themselves, to kill themselves. Why create what doesn’t want to exist, or at least at the extent of its strength doesn’t end up being enough to meet its purpose, to “reach its destiny”- if there really even is one for each of us with half a grain of will.

I tugged on the blue rope to test the integrity of the knot, and placed it around my neck.

Which is all too rather ironic to even spend so much thought trying to grasp the indiscernible, likely much more from the oxymoronic “suicidal Christian”- which to me always sounded like the title of a book of satire. Furthermore, I wondered why God chose to grant my request that evening long ago on the stairwell. Lifestyle had driven me into liver failure and I remember the doctor taking me into the hallway to tell me that I could very likely die in this case. I had mixed feelings about it, because back then I didn’t want to die. I sat on the stairwell, a deep orange sunset shining through the window on my face, and I made a deal with God. I told Him I would do what He created me to do if He would not let me not die. And I spontaneously recovered. None of the doctors could explain why or how I recovered so rapidly, because *they’d* never seen it before; but I knew how. It wasn’t long until I deeply regretted this prayer- because that was *before* all that has transpired to this very moment years later, standing on the edge of the wall; because I never could have imagined the fires I would be tested or punished by, all that I would lose, all the burdens I would somehow gain- or how heavy it would all so quickly become to me. I didn’t know if perhaps it was indicative of God’s sense of humor or not, but I wouldn’t want to start any Blasphemous Rumours.

But it’s all just like that saying that the Universe gives you what you wanted at the absolute worst time, or when you don’t even want it anymore; only I had observed that the case seemed to be taking what you wanted, and giving it back only if you ever managed to not care about it being gone anymore. Because whatever your idol is; we most all have them. If only my fears were as easy to lose as the things that once gave me breath.

I stood,  feet on the edge, still looking at the lights below; doubting that I had the guts.

“My heart’s a graveyard, baby…” my phone rang with a text message notification.


P.8 the Red Letters

       I met Shawn on an online matching site I had used on and off over the years for some form of social interaction. Though he lived somewhere on the other side of the country, so we’d never technically met. Like 99% of the countless people I had spent varying amounts of time talking to, there was no romantic inclination, but we seemed to enjoy harassing eachother. Our friendship eventually consisted of the occasional handwritten fuck you letter or some other Russian or Japanese profanity; we hadn’t talked in some months but I knew that he was a “good Mormon” as I always teased, and would actually say a prayer for me. Though I wasn’t sure what there really was left to even pray.

      I remained in that spot for an exceedingly long time. I couldn’t even think where I could fasten the damn rope if I were to work up the guts. I almost laughed; of course I was terrified of the process of dying, but even more so I was afraid that God would condemn my already tormented soul to an eternity of the hell I already carried pieces of inside. I know they say how could a loving God send anyone to hell- but I think we send ourselves; most often paved with good intentions. The dreams never failed to remind me what hell was like, and I had seen things, so it made it easy for me to believe that there is such a place.

I had taken plenty of time doing extensive research on the statistics; success rate, cleanup, risks of failure, and pain level. How the fuck you could really have information on how much it hurts to die of a shot to the head ot number of other things, I wondered. But I had always considered the high probability suicide attempts carried of just fucking myself up and ending up worse off. I had already tried stopping my heart with excessive stimulants, and had more than once starved myself into multiple organ failure; surprisingly, I ate even less now. but I always seemed to elude the odds as well as the Laws of Thermodynamics ; cheating death so many times and in such circumstances that most would attribute it solely to the hand of God saying I needed to stay for some reason.                                                      He would never tell me why.              I didn’t believe He had any “plans” for me anymore , like everyone has always told me. Still don’t.  I believed it for a long time; but counting the years and now in my heart I only believed that my life had been closing for a while. I knew God was real, there was no debate as to that. I’d seen too much, been given too much proof when I laid out my fleece time and time again; and we had talked for long enough in these ways that I could never question His existence. We simply disagreed on most things I guess. 

     I considered maybe I should try something less traumatic for whoever found the body. Or if I should just do it far out in the mountains, where I liked to be. I was barred from purchasing a firearm, so I had been thinking of overdose or preferably a fatal drug interaction. I was a small person and I had already been mixing all kinds of drugs for some time now, as well as taking benzodiazapenes with alcohol every night after I learned Thomas Kinkade died that way. “The Painter of Light” he was called; My parents had a Kinkade in practically every room of the house. The irony.

I hoped that I would leave something behind as well; because I think the only thing worse than leaving or being left, is being forgotten.

7.7 free write

Can’t you see

 I’m not a part of the world

No matter how hard I ever tried to be

They all speak in a tongue

So foreign to me

I don’t use words that way

I can’t explain

What’s all the fight for anyway

Hope keeps us breathing for another day

So suffocating is a much slower way

For hands that hang dead

And God’s looking on 

At the other 98 percent

It wasn’t worth It 

When I never could have turned this

My pieces just don’t fit 

And I don’t believe they’ll ever matter again

I never could have even imagined this

Poor decisions formed my own prison

But I don’t think that I could have

Done it any different

I’ll never know if I walked fate, punishment, or somewhere in between

But if any fate really even knew me 

I’ll never be sure why God wasted His time

Maybe I believe

Some were not made to be

So do I know inside

That some of us were made to die

Can’t you see 

It’s all a futile artistry. 


Everything’s more fucked up than it seems

Words never near enough to explain anything

The devil has me in hand again

Have you ever seen God in it

Everything’s more empty than it looks

Everyone so distant and can’t say what I should

Have you ever been to hell, this week

From the back of your skull where it carries

Have you ever been so thirsty but cannot take a drop

Have you ever seen 

Tell me, where did you find God 

With eyes sewn shut

Have you ever for long stood so still

You see the dark man at the window sill

You held my hand once

But I can’t keep my balance

Have you ever slept with hell

So dark in the corners of this cell

Felt your heart slip from your chest 

bones separate from the sinew and flesh

Have you ever had the ground’s deep waters

But run for days only to find rotten cisterns

Standing in a circle clear

where no one knows that I’m here

With skin so thin

That It always seems to gets back in

I can’t see, you can’t understand it

And we wander

Have you ever seen God here

I would meet Him anywhere

Have you ever been to hell, this week

I’m standing in this circle clearing

There’s a devil and a scream that I keep hearing

This is all I’ve got

Tell me, have you seen God?