SINFUL- INTRO

*fictional characters, fictional plot/ real issues*

ZERO.

I hate this place.

It's ungodly.


The linoleum floors, ugly and harsh on our soles, the fluorescent lights glared down on us, more importantly me, as if I sinned, wronged. And now my fate is to burn in the spotlight; made by the nasty yellowish glow of unforgiving, old bulbs.

The water sprayed down at me, and while I was underneath the nozzle, I acted out my own personal baptism, washing out unholy thoughts. Refusing to breathe, water directly in my face, immersed in this water that would cleanse out my wandering, disobedient eyes to other stalls.


Is this a Sin?

I ask myself this question everyday.

Whilst in my bed before I closed my eyes awaiting fitful sleep.
Upon waking up to sticky sheets, tinted pink cheeks and me cursing my body, my mind.
After eating over prayed food; prayer addressed to the very Entity they swore hated me.
Whilst doodling in the corners of homework assignments or slivers of my skin.
Whilst gazing into his eyes, feeling the tingling in the deepest recesses of my stomach, the pit of my heart, asking myself am I wrong?

Long ago, I once tiptoed in my Mother's bedroom and gently roused her from her sleep. Mother, I spoke. She smiled down at me, her beautiful but tired eyes glimmering and red from sleep. I asked her quietly about love. Does it happen to anybody and everybody? She patted to the space next to her and beckoned me to lay. Honey, love is inescapable. Love has that ability to touch the darkest of hearts. Of course it could happen to everyone. I nodded intensely for a couple of moments, then spoke delicately. Can love ever be wrong? She rolled her eyes at me and poked my nose with playful taps. Love is pure, Sammy. Relief washed over me and soon, the bated breath I had forgot I was holding escaped my lungs and I was free to inhale again.

But it was a false sense of security.

Shutting off the water, I quickly hide my body with a towel; disappearing in camouflage of cotton. I fixate my gaze on the floor, and not to the unashamedly naked bodies that mill around.

And as the bile and lust bubbles in my stomach, I pray, pray, pray that my Lord doesn't hate me as much as I hate myself now.

Not a Skeleton, But Still in the Closet

I keep all the gifts you gave me in my closet now. (Isn't that ironic?)

Well, I can't bear to show them on my bookshelf anymore, because I can no longer want you, no longer see you with the same dumb, goo-ga eyes blind from glasses tinted in rose.

I folded up your kisses, the curve of your lips, the sound of your sighs in the depths of my mind and deadbolt them shut.

I keep the twinkle of your eyes in the lowlight, the feel of your hand in mine, the sound of your snort right at the surface.

I love you, want the best. Truly.


And you're so gorgeous in and out. Please don't allow these ghouls splatter their ruddy shades of grey paint on your masterpiece of a soul.

Don't allow your anger to corrupt it either.

Thank you for being there when my own thoughts were eating me inside out. Thank you for holding my hand, kissing the hurt away.

Thank you for being the cynical, crazy, lovable you.

You were and always will be my best friend.


That day, I was brave enough to laugh, cry, imagine one last time before delicately placing the memories away.

And one day, maybe you will be brave enough to drag your body bag of bones and blood out of the closet... and maybe, your life will be more radiant in the sunlight's glow then the phantom fluorescent.