Audacious Prayer

Crying through broken verses and vacant metrical sense, I resorted to doing the only thing there was left to do--> Pray.

"God, I don't ask you for much and I know it is against your rules for me to be able to see my own future, but please, just show me if I ever get proposed to. Don't show me for my sake, just show me for my husband's sake so I won't miss him if he arrives."

It was a basic prayer, maybe not selfless, but direct. I don't beat around a burning bush with God, he's my most reliable therapist, so I unload all doubts and reservations of life...as petty as they may be. I quickly recited the Lord's prayer, tacked onto the husband request, as I began to slip further into slumber. It was the type of slumber that plays tricks on your restless mind and won't permit a numbing dream to start too soon. There was tossing and turning and in between the wrestling of the sheets and fluffing of the pillows, I was alone in my pondering.

Ponder, ponder, subliminal is this life. Confessions to myself are like water from time to time, my own subliminal messages from my higher self come in a guilty Morse code that taps on my brain, demanding total honest about the reality I face when I am away for the answers in my dreams. I am guilty of falling in love with ideals more so than actual men. I seesaw between extreme romanticism and being intellectually objective. My limitations in love stem from self-preservation and desire for independent emotional security. I never questioned my self-worth or suffered from self-esteem woes prior to placing excessive trust in abusive, controlling partners, but afterwards, once the bloody dust had settled, I found myself as a single mother, a young daughter observing my every move. If I cry she wants to know why. If I am alone, she wants to know why she can't have a daddy for Christmas. If I cringe when I look in the mirror, she catches on like a catcher guarding home base at the World Series. For my daughter's sake, I knew loving myself was the right thing to do, if only so she wouldn't inherit learned self-resentment from me at the cost of her own a stable and self-confident future.

The infatuations of the past that did not come with black and blue price tags, included men adorned with wandering body parts. Is this nature at work and over play or did I fail as a woman in some way to captivate their fancy for a significant duration of time? I loved being a redhead for so long until all of the comparisons made me feel it wasn't a gift, but a curse. Did these men suffer because of my curse? I may never know, but if I have to ask questions like that, the relationship needs no further time investment on my behalf. When it comes to relationships, diamonds are not a girls best friend--time is. The best thing I can do is neutralize these experiences so they cease to have any leverage over my present and future. It isn't fair to any man if I were to drive a u-haul truck of self-loathing and baggage into his world and pray it could be concealed or downplayed under novel and fuzzy feelings of a fresh, clean-slated love.

No, I just assume drive that old loaded truck over a bridge and leave the scene as quickly as possible. What I will carry are theses precious lessons I've collected along the way...with faith that in the end...these lessons are as weightless as my soul, the only sign and soul marks of this life God will afford me to take with me once I make the grand exit through the right door. Where is that door? People talk about heaven being a distant fairytale place on the other side of a whirlpool galaxy, but what if this isn't true? what if heaven is right inside of us? What if heaven is the substance our souls are made of and has gone virtually ignored by the ongoing quest for wasteful space exploration? Ever heard of astral travel NASA?

Dreaming is just another way to explore this ideal of heaven...the only ideal that is truly safe for me to fall in love with...the all-encompassing cosmic Christ. I don't know where I fall as far as maturity, but I know that I welcomed Christ to grow in the temple and He has never truly left. I'm playful, but I take falling in love very seriously...so much so that I have come to the decision to not even date anyone I haven't dreamed about. What is the point of trying to fall in love with someone your higher self hasn't set you up with in dreamland?

You're higher self doesn't want you to be controlled or manipulated by another human being, it safeguards against it...with the blessed thing that is a warning dream or your own priceless intuition. I rarely if ever dreamed about my former boyfriends and in retrospect, wonder why I exhausted so many awful cycles with them which ultimately proved not to be a ring leading to marriage, but a bike lock that needed to be broken so I could ride away as fast as possible and end the cycle for good. Thankfully, that's all stuffed away in the aforementioned u-haul truck now and isn't worth revisiting further.

So back to this husband chat with God. I had no preconceived ideas of who God might want me to end up with, but there he was, becoming more vivid in my dream with each breath he took. I heard him ask about a redhead...I embedded myself to the silence and sat expressionless on a bed, like a throw pillow, sipping his conversation about a quest for a redhead. He finally spots me, glides over, and sits down on the bed, shoulders square and his eyes locked on mine.

"We could be just like a real couple." He promised me with his blue eyes shimmering like sunlight over the sea.

I didn't know what to say. I am pretty sure my tongue slipped into a coma and refused to cooperate. In all the concealed passion I had harbored for him, for the ideal man that he is, I could find nothing but the gesture of repose in a hypnotic stare of happy agreement. I knew God was responding to my prayer and was astonished he would respond to me with the answer in the face of this beautiful, charming man....who is very much alive and well in the world. I wanted it to be real. In my heart, I wanted to wake up with my hand still slipped between his fingers. For a few moments, I was flying. My heart pounded so hard against my ribcage, I awoke in a furious sweat. I hated waking up and as soon as my eyes met the darkness of my room, I wished they had never parted from the light in that man's eyes. I was alone again and left only with the fading image of the way he'd looked at me and the echo of his voice, convincing me to believe and have faith that we could be a real couple.


Relationships in any form---dream or otherwise--- should not lead to entrapment or jail cells-- they should involve helping our lovers to build wings and fly beyond the simplicity of loving on a human level, reaching higher towards the totality of understanding in loving unconditionally under God. That love is unrestricted and limitless and the idea is to share it, not control it or leash it. I can't say if I will ever share anything with this man beyond a few remarkable pages in my dream journal, but in the gracious awareness that we both reside in this limitless world, while I'm tucked in and fast asleep under stars that get wished on everyday, it fulfills and thrills me to even be able to explore the possibilities with the dreamy version of him.

Poem number 219

I come to you today as a flawed and humble sinner
My sins are not my soul
(still a beginner)
but like scars and birthmarks
sin enhances character
nudity stark
fresh with individuality
played fetched with a life that won't chase me
everlastingness comes to hither
heaven was born in my soul
as the outside withered
(still a beginner)
my love is a frosty winter
barren white
bears hibernate, but the cubs just hide
from nakedness
covered only by a canopy of faith
the bass are swimming up God's lake
as I pull back the dark rain
tired of playing this murderous game
isolated recluse
am i learning from all these mistakes?
free will so badly abused
no sustenance in a lame excuse
i heard an angel agree
as Jesus went fishing for me
the hook made the final decree
absentee bears no guarantees
for my vote will never be cast
i'm just the last drop of lust
in the devil's flask
i learned the lesson
but left long before the aftermath
never look back, never look back

-Jessica Robbins (c)

The Reason of Dreaming

When becoming involved in the art and expression of dreamwork, it is critical to understand that while the two worlds are separated, they are inextricably linked. God is the thread connecting the two. It is not uncommon to meet with your higher self or the higher selves of others in this mostly neutral environment. Your higher self seeks to unite with you in your sleep, it is your complimentary counterpart and it is on a constant quest to make you a more dignified and loving human being, on all dimensions. The higher self does not guard against petty feelings of shame, but embodies and whispers undeniable truth. While conscious, people are capable of lying, but while asleep, their protective defenses are temporally disabled, which permits the truth to escape through their higher, divinely loyal astral selves. Lying is a non-functional, useless defense under dreaming conditions.

In many of my respective dreams, the characters have come to me in a manner of confession and have revealed highly personal, almost damning evidence of their morally questionable activities while awake. It's comparable to seeing the essence of a guilty conscious. In reality, these people might have hidden their motives or intentions because they were false and impure, but the dream world is projected by the laws of God, a law mainly consisting of the indestructible fibers of unconditional love and truth. Just as the real world was crafted to provide a place for the souls of men to advance, the dream world was also provided as a safe location for spiritual minds to become more in tune with the first cause of Christ. The real world is not a safe place, many have died in pursuit of defending their religious beliefs, but the threat of judgment and death is non-existent when we are under cognitive sedation and here we are finally free to be who we truly are, away from the incessant evaluation and external pressures of impossibly worldly expectations. Hence, the more spiritually adept and absent of ego we become, the more we harness the power to dream the truth, despite any deceptive circumstances or frauds the real world my use to prevent full disclosure. The act of flying into a dream is similar to the concept of Jesus walking on water. He was able to do so because he is clear of conscious and this equates to being weightless. We are clear and weightless in our dreams because we are no longer obligated to carry heavy personalities that interfere with coded spiritual functioning of the ever-seeking soul. If we are willing, we begin to reconcile that the reason for dreaming is not merely for regulating self, but the reason is to coordinate and equalize our lives with that of God's master plan.

The dream world is not merely a dream, it is much like taking a journey to being "In God's know." God's know extends well beyond clusters of material time that tangle and dictate humanity. The truth is threatening to people who may be superficially dependent or over focused gratifying vanity and greed, which is why dishonest, unawakened people are frequently threatened by the accuracy of the dreamworld and psychic dreamers come under attack.

C.S. Lewis said it best when he described the notion of men not owning their lives or souls.

"And all the time the joke is that the word 'Mine" in its fully possessive sense cannot be uttered by a human being about anything. In the long run either Our Father or the Enemy will say 'Mine' of each thing that exists, and specially of each man. They will find out in the end, never fear, to whom their time, their souls, their bodies really belong--certainly not to them, whatever happens."

People operate as though they own their own lives, but they do not. I have the ability to see pieces of other people's lives from the dream standpoint, because they do not have exclusive rights to the scenes of their lives. Any closed minded person would become defensive and object to this, but what it boils down to is that they have no control over the power of God. In the boundless dream haven, God has granted us a portal and the discerning ability to escape the fetters time and the devil of celebrity and political propaganda, all within the comfort of rejuvenating sleep. In sleep, we are free to escape from possessive ideals of ownership and explore creation far more expansive than the waking mind can conceive. We are no longer subject to what others want us to think or feel or perceive, but instead are graced by the celestial interpretation of the real world. The most hardened egos are softened and honest in the dreamworld--which is probably why I have come to thrive and savor all of my transactions in the realm.

Dreaming can improve the substance and principals woven throughout all of our lives, if we trust our unconscious higher selves and our guides and come to this place without social masks or flags to claim something as "ours" or "mine." A sleeping mind is a more open mind, it is while we are awake that many are still truly asleep, in self-serve mode. "I need this... it has to be this way" we scream such things when we are awake, but once our minds rest, the ability to justify and rationalize dissolves and then clarity can finally begin to breathe and be released. It requires a place to be released, no human can contain the truth in a lying mind, and so the purity of the soul seizes the opportunity in rest to release toxins--all through the gateway of a dream. Even the damning ignorance of life goes to sleep--while ignorant bodies are asleep---and only once their ignorance is sleeping can God and the angels try to correct them with gentle enlightening dream counseling. God lovingly corrects those He loves, but often, the realism of conversation and self-glorification, hinders the soul's ability to listen to the peaceful stillness.A helpful prayer before dreaming would be,
"God, when I fall into your arms to sleep, please show me the way you would have me proceed in a manner that pleases you. Please help me to rid myself of anything that does not serve your greater glory. Please grant me the wisdom to see the view of your truth and help me to let go of my excuses and irrational emotions. And always let your will be done and not my own."
After you wake up, always thank God and the angels for granting and sending healing dreams. Many people do not dream or cannot see at all because they have become so blocked and consumed by heated demands of a negative reality. Dreaming is truly a sacred gift, if you are blessed with such a gift, express gratitude frequently, it makes the angels happy to know that you have recognized the way they have intervened in your dream life on God's behalf.
As you begin to fall in love with the dreaming process and develop your new found abilities to see all sides of the truth, affirm to yourself and be ever aware of the instruction to "be still and know He is God." If you can accomplish this in your sleep, you discover there is no need to run from the characters chasing you because you now have the ability to confront them with the holy truth. If you can master the law of being still and knowing in your sleep, it will be easier to naturally apply the laws of heaven while conscious, thereby making you a cosmically informed protector of the integrity of God's will. And God said let there be beautiful dreams, and it was good. Happy dreaming!

By Jessica Robbins

Work in Progress...

 


After spending the day working with Aurora's super cool kindergarten class!

I boldly went where many have gone before me---into a kindergarten classroom. Ironically, my daughter has the same kindergarten teacher that I had. This offered a very different perspective--- which is a blessing in itself---always changing shoes so as not to get too comfortable or spoiled in a bad pair of khaki colored boots. I don't know why I am so opposed to those hideous boots, they are just not for me, but I am the type of woman who prefers to walk a mile in Jesus sandals. Fashion aside, the learning environment in a kindergarten classroom is a contagiously enchanting place. Prior to venturing in, I had come to the conclusion that I probably would decide that I didn't want to have any more children after the day was complete. I was wrong. The children brought out a side of me that had been dulled and squelched by the tumultuous seasons of a very weathered life. Coming to them was almost a form of surrender in itself and anytime you can surrender yourself, self is replaced with service. Some of these children are clearly not getting the proper attention at home...I won't speculate as to why, but soon into the adventure, I got a chance to speak to one of the more rambunctious little boys. For much of the morning, he had been constantly scolded by the teacher, stomped his feet a number of times, and grunted like he wanted to punch something. After it had quieted down, he started looking up at the lights in the room. A few moments later, we were at an art table together constructing a rocket and drawing stars and planets. He kept glancing around the room and back up to the lights again. I finally asked him, "Do you see something? Can you see a person that maybe I cannot see?"
He looked at me skeptically, but I assured him I would believe anything he said to me.
"I have a friend named Rachelle. We were close but now I don't get to see her anymore."

Trying on his shoes, I could infer that he had established a deep connection to Rachelle, whom I am guessing is a real little girl he used to go to preschool with and had recently been separated from. Rachelle could also be a light energy-- either explanation is possible. He wasn't deliberately trying to disturb his new classmates, he only longed for the comfort zone he was forced to part with once the first day of kindergarten arrived. In a moment like this, I knew the little boy did not need the scolding that he had encountered from the teacher earlier---he needed empathy.
I continued to smile at him and offered something he could relate to so he didn't have to feel alone in confusion.
"Aurora had a little a boy she was close to in preschool and she has also been sad about not being able to see him anymore too. He went to a different new school, like your friend Rachelle. I know it's hard, but sometimes in life, people come into our lives to make us happy for a time and then for reasons beyond our control, we are split up and have to keep going alone."
"But I really miss her." He spoke like a grown up who had just been cast away from the love of his life.
"Do you dream about her, can you see her when you are asleep?"
"Yes, I have dreamed about her." He beamed.
"Sometimes when we can no longer be together in life, we still make time for each other when we are asleep."

After our conversation, the boy started behaving much better. He didn't need to be reprimanded at all-- he just needed someone to understand his emotions and help him to come to terms with a new school arrangement and different classmates. The school system is an entity of constant transition and with changes come natural emotional response. Make a habit to always extend empathy and compassion first---before consequential punishment. This might be an obvious approach to many, but after my conversation with the boy, I got the feeling that no one had addressed him individually on a level he needed to be reached out to. That's not to fault the teacher at all. But by treating someone like a problem---they become a bigger problem, but if you treat them like a friend, you establish wonderful bonds that encourage positive growth and nurture an ability to be comfortable in their continuous personal development, as diverse and unpredictable as it may be. If a child is habitually excluded from group activities, because he is sitting in a time out chair, he only withdraws further and continues to misbehave. But if he is truly acknowledged and his feelings are recognized as authentic, it triggers happiness and the behavior begins to adjust into enthusiasm for the learning process rather than resisting the changes and doing bad things to gain attention. We are all a constant work in God's progress, children especially, and it is critical to remember that even children have extremely vulnerable moments and need to be treated and spoken to like an adult that has just suffered a severe heartbreak rather than yelled at like a dog that just peed on the carpet. Speaking to them like they are adults is an effective way to ensure that they will grow into mature adults and it is the only way to make beneficial emotional progress and teach them early on that is is healthy to experience, gradually sort through, digest, and eventually release--- all of the emotions that come with natural growing pains.

by Jessica Robbins

I was sewing myself a gold dress
tied up in bows of black lies
but got bored with the fabricated mess
as the beam was dislodged from my eye
I composed another suicide poem
better than stabbing myself in the heart
the sewing needle imploded
i have been marked, i have been marked

Gabriel took a soulful stroll
i followed the trail of his voice
as the climate of a dream unrolled
like a spool of blue ribbon
natural selection is God's choice
a planet sewn on the hem of new linen
resting under an over starched blouse
moths have grown too comfortable in the house
batted brown, uniform flight
wings slap the shade of the lamp light
restless eyeballs roll deeper into the night
green begotten gilded guts
i reached for a book and squashed that bug

no more fluttering around a false flame
fanned and poised, feathers of a lark
swayed by euphoria, crucified in fast fame
I have been marked, I have been marked

(C) Jessica Robbins

Hopeless Hereafter

I don't yearn for anyone, but I yearn to be in love again. The feeling has ambushed and fled to abrupt abandonment so many times that I know not how to let love stalk and attack anymore, I'm bashful even when it comes to loving myself. I only know to withdraw further from human inclinations and hide out in dreamland, thereby seeking sanctuary in the voracious unconscious where an open flame burns brighter in the satisfaction of sleep. Long after a riddling REM sleep dissolves into the dungeon of consciousness, I am only writing my own obituary. Even surrounded by a group of people, I feel so separated, so trapped in being a peculiar temptress, cuffed to my own obscure beauty, a lusty physical burden that tyrannizes me ceaselessly to the point I am unrecognizable to myself. Whoever that girl is, she doesn't have my sympathy, she has my resolve and whatever remains of my joy--joy hidden somewhere in her detached, disembodied soul.
This supposed self-created destiny is nothing more than an amorphous epiphany of inebriation, schemed up in a manic moment of audacious hope. Hope for what? Love beyond waking? Is there really such a thing? The ambiguity of my aimless path becomes more daunting each day, the lantern I carry only lights a few small steps ahead while the rest is reposed in a matrix of mystery. Wise men and prophets speak of "knowing thyself" or being true to self, but how can I know God if I'm always exploring forbidden sides of my soul? Is God nestled in the crevasses of inward conservation? The world speaks of conserving resources, but what of conserving self? What of Conserving God? Are dreams our own personal productions or nothing more than a gregarious gateway to connect with God? Is this the final frontier humanity is allotted to pursue a faultless and nondenominational association with the divine? In my respective dream corner, I find the only haven of sound solutions to these hounding questions, a place I am able to fully love God and the souls of men that would dare to meet with me in the midst of a realm of resolution. The yearning only dwindles when I am free to roam on astral beaches and build sandcastles of dreams and make believe i am tiny enough to live inside of them. Sure, I imagine the castles will wash away in a run out of fantasy once the tides of sunlight sweep over my bedroom, but for a moment, I am free to build grainy towers of longing, towers of faith, towers of healing-- somewhere in a place that is only regulated God, the angels, and whatever love is left after this lifetime of doom.

Speaking of doomed lifetimes... (no offense Layne, I only use that in transition.) The other day Layne informed me of something interesting. "Jessica, Gabriel brought you to me, what makes you think he wouldn't bring me to see you?" Today Layne was feeling dramatically better. Once I fell asleep, I heard his intoxicating voice very clearly and he was there waiting for me with a roguish glow in his eye, evidently in much happier spirits and appearing more beautiful and peaceful than I'd ever seen him before. Not too long ago that wasn't the case and the nature of our conversations were far more grizzly and unsettling. Dreaming of Layne generally involves inescapable elements of a brutal and unforgiving reality. The reason largely being that certain dream characters are supposedly mirrors of our true selves and Layne has always been a challenging and vacillating reflection to gaze into.

Sometimes I dare myself to draw out a side of men that they never wanted to show. I don't know why. I didn't have a terribly rough life, no harder than I made it on myself. Perhaps my own mental barriers are why I've come to enjoy seeing Layne. I've seen so many sides of Layne that I can safely say, Layne is the whole package, had he avoided his own undoing, he would have have been an astounding person all around--indefinitely. People already attest to this, but I mean for the long haul, Layne would have been the type of man a person dreams of having in their corner. He's always made for a very unpredictable and fascinating dream ally and as I met with him a few weeks ago, I detected there were some emotional leftovers mushrooming their way to the surface of his restless spirit.

"It's hopeless Jessi. Look at me." He motioned his arms around in a half circle and then looked downwards into his lap and began tugging on the waistline of his jeans.

His profile was so engaging to look at. I stood motionless for a minute and admired the loveliness in the symmetry of his gorgeous face and the way his light eyelashes washed into his fair skin. Staring at how beautiful he was, I still saw what was really cresting underneath the surface of his delicateness. I could practically inhale all the telling scents of intuition that told me he still didn't know how to love himself, to care for himself, to discover and reclaim his own regenerative power. Beyond how attracted i was to him, I became furious at what he had said and in the fury, I felt the jawline of my panic stricken face drop as the word "hopeless" sunk further into my psyche. I wanted to let my tears run out all over his frail shoulder. More than that I wanted to grasp at his curly hair and kiss his smooth forehead, but I knew any hint of affection would only make matters worse. We'd get lost on each other's silky lips again as we had in a dream before and then I'd have to wake up before I had a chance to talk some sense into him. Yet, I thought deeply and considerably of kissing the life and hope back into him as my frantic hazel eyes danced on the lines of his lips. I suppressed the stupid spin the bottle urges and in the affliction my own transmuted emotion, I erupted all over him in a jumbled blizzard of anger and passion.

"How can you say that to me?" He peered up from his intertwined fingers, not looking straight into my eyes, but slightly above to a few red curls, probably floating in the torrent of my warped and unreadable body language. We were both wearing simple white shirts, my garment was more fitted and he had on a well-worn black leather jacket that made his fatigued shoulders appear larger than they were. I placed one hand on my hip bone and the other palm I offered out like I was trying to feed a baby animal, nearly touching the thick, rusty hair on his chin in the gesture. "How do you expect me to wake up after hearing you talk like that? Isn't it bad enough I visit you like you're a drug? The instant I arrive, I see how alive you still are and yet you remain in a desire to wallow in self-destruction and throw up the decoy defense anytime someone tries to care about you. You were never hopeless and now you are one of the few symbols of hope I even have left to turn to. Why do you think I still come to see you? I need hope just as much as you do Layne. There came a time when I stopped being afraid to spend time with you and I understood how life-altering it was, I saw past your roughness and the self-inflicted wounds to who you really are, to who God designed you to be. That design is perfect to me Layne, the dreams are perfect and you have inadvertently brought so much love into my life that I don't even need love from anybody when I'm awake, you are more than enough for me." For a second I thought I saw his blue-gray eyes begin to water, but he turned his face away and sniffed stiffly. I wanted to pet and coddle him, but the only place to sit was on his lap and I didn't know if he was flirting with the idea of hugging me or hitting me.

I have moments in these exchanges with him where I wonder if I can convince him of his self worth and maybe, just maybe, I will wake up to find that Layne is still alive and that I somehow succeeded in time traveling back in the course of dreams to save him from his own wrath. While time traveling can be facilitated in dreaming, resuscitating someone as distraught and broken as Layne was...well maybe he was right, maybe it is hopeless.

Vacuum of Verse

 

When the embarrassment subsides
perhaps I'll wake up to the perfect life
I watched illogical imagination slowly die
in a hapless August sunrise
Surprised the lack love in my life
didn't murder it long ago
the blade of truth bit my palm after an omen of hope let go

I know not the day I kissed her goodbye
but now I never see the look of delight in my eye
the extrinsic enthusiasm i painted as a child
has been squandered on men I haven't spoken to in a while
those doors were crazy glued shut
and when i wake up, i don't give a flying fuck
yet when i think too much
i scroll through the black book of past loves
and wonder if I missed writing a genuine love story
as opposed to the abuse and pain constantly unfolding before me
now it seems an inkling of a fairytale
is like weaving a cheap, eggless basket
you'd rather be fishing
while I snuggle up in a casket

late into the hours of a Bahama night
angels come to me ringing secrets of starlight, forbidding sleep
only after I've found it i discover I'm not asleep at all
but tucked in altruistic arms of dream friends
the only people left to pray for me when i fall
far, far, far from grace
no means to a fast end and no more love to taste

long after i wake up
i feel invisible angels floating, dream between dream
rut between rut
always hearing the voices of fate
and crying for other people's mistakes

i never feel sorry for myself
no desire to revisit that hell
i can't pander my pity when I'm not awake
i feel peace all around me to the point of nothingness
I've been alone so long I've forgotten how God wants me to kiss

i got so dirty and gritty that i couldn't see my own skin
rushed up the stairs with sore limbs
slammed another door that wouldn't let me in
flipped on the faucet and prayed again
undressed quickly and tossed the sweat soaked clothes to the floor
the water couldn't clean me fast enough when they called me a whore
i could feel my bones vibrating as I begged Jesus to keep me level
to balance my sobriety, my emotions, my scattered thoughts
keep me on an even keel of health and banish the devil
the world of chaos spins so fast
that I know not who it rotates for anymore
God or a master of illusion knocking on a sinners door

In a shower of suicide I heard them talk about me
he was right, i wanted to do it so bad i could taste my brain bleed
i didn't want to sow seeds or grow life in a tainted reality
i only wanted to end the illusion of me

2009(C) Jessica Robbins