Bleed it out by Sloane Jenson
walked alone into a empty church one night - the darkest night.
I walked down the main isle carrying a gift - the most precious gift.
I stood before the god who knows what it is like to bleed - and die.
I knew He would be the only one who would completely understand.
I knelt before His Cross and showed Him the gift He'd given to me;
I showed him my swollen infected heart - and the stake driven though it.
It'd been ripped from me by beasts who raped and killed it without thought.
I raised it up to give Him the perfect view - look well, oh Lord, look well.
It burns, I tell Him. It is dark and emptied. And it is very very bitter.
And yet I keep it and feed it, because You gave it to me - because it is my heart.
Now I've come to You, after so long a hollow soul - please, take this pain from me.
I grip the stake handle - only you can help me, Lord, only You understand my heart.
Oh, it is so silent, so dark - the outside world is no more - there is only me and Him.
I see the blood on His hands, His brow, His side, His hands - oh yes, He knows.
Because I left the stake in I am more sick then is natural - I kept everything locked up
And now I must bleed it out - the rage, the pain, the shame, the consuming bitterness.
I will spill it all out on this sanctified ground, this venom which is eating me alive,
This poison which flows through the chambers of my soul - the waters of a dead world.
Let this be my ultimate confession, my last stab at redemption, for I played my own part
In the staking of my heart - but now I seek release, and a wish to see the sun again.
Outside the wind is howling, inside the candles are flickering, above me You are weeping,
Before You I am bleeding, a reddened stake in my left hand, a freed heart in my right.
Now I can start to heal - though the world may always be darkened to me - now I can smile.
Others like me are legion, but I'm no longer one of the living dead, the walking wounded...
I have been cleansed by blood.
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Hmm my journal will be whatever it wants to be. :D I will not be the one speaking nor writing. My journal will whisper to my heart and my heart will give it the answers. This journal reflects my heart like a mirror reflects your image.
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its an angel my dear, but be careful. dont fall for the holy facade for it holds in its hands the death of many souls....
^ I drew it!!! my first ever olf head drawn by m without a ref pic!! biggrin yay ~praise me~ lol
^ I drew it!!! my first ever olf head drawn by m without a ref pic!! biggrin yay ~praise me~ lol