Muddy Hands & Empty Notebooks [Swear By It]

Physically, I was becoming my cancers,

wrapped around my organs as time tick-ticked away.

All the stress of a white dress

and little feet against lacquered wood

is killing me sweetly; slowly; sinfully.

And all I have to show for my time

are muddy hands with black palms

and finger-painted empty notebooks

full of hopeful wishes I attempted to build

on burning rice paper or something of the like.

I created kingdoms of balloons and moats of chocolate milk.

I wanted to stay young forever, but find a man so God fearing

that he'd have to dig deep underground to find me

underneath the Acts and Numbers that created my existence

in golden weaves of heavenly cotton.

When I thought I found him (my prince, of course!!)

I thanked God for the future I just knew He'd made for me!

I just knew!---oh I just knew.

This was the road my dirty red Converse Stars were meant to walk.

It had to be it. I hadn't found direction like this previously.

But when the hammer hit the mirror,

I was so confused as to why there was ever any glass at all.

He hadn't loved me for me after all,

he'd loved the blobs of fat that had built me from the 

ground up! -- like a science class project.

Even I never researched what I was

or what I was slowly becoming.

My fingers are spider legs searching for prey

found in anxious dictionaries and webs of creation.

It was a mistake to live like I have. 

And I don't mean God, I mean my godlessness.

I threw caution to the wind in an oversized sheet.

I convinced myself that, if I closed my eyes long enough,

tomorrow would always come, and nothing else was real.

Whispering sweet goodnights to such lonely wonders.

Maybe one day I'll kiss my Bible enough

to drill it through my head that I AM LOVED.

But it's so easy to forget when you're struggling to believe

that every second matters and not to waste a moment's breath.

My demons scream while my angels beg.

Sweet Jesus, glorious and heavenly,

won't You rescue me from this land of make-believe?

I worship at Your feet, I crumble at Your glory.

I would do anything for Your love, I swear by it!

I am so sorry for my nature, the way I sin when I love You.