(no subject)
I don't know who I'm praying to anymore, but as I sit here in the perpetual city twilight, smoke carries my desperate pleas as it blackens my lungs. Who are you, and why do I ask you for help when all feels lost? I beg you for guidance without second thought, staring at the few stars I can count, or with my head bowed. Take this tobacco offering, and help me find my way. I'm talking to imaginary saints, hoping that's who's listening. I humor those who believe in religion, tell them I'm finding God. You are not God, at least not their God. I ask what I did to deserve this, what I must do to earn better. Does Karma take prayer? I don't believe so.
So cross my heart, hope to die. Take the life from these sunken eyes. Bleed me black, and suck me dry. Beat me down, too gone to cry. Kill my lungs with another breath, if this is life I fear no death.