Favorite Sins

I can now say, 
he was right, 
way more often than I was, 
and that even when, 
there was no lower to go, 
he always lifted me up, 
when it would have been easier to leave me where I was. 

My favorite sin was to push him away, 
to try to see how far I could go, 
to disrespect the one so undeserving, 
and them crawl back for more. 

Then came the times of estrangement,
crazy times, 
less than honest reflections, 
taking medication, 
rejecting talking therapy.

Driving, 
driving with no ambition, 
except for the time spent, 
looking for a quiet space, 
to kill myself, 
maybe a tree, 
maybe a quiet patch of woods, 
on a windy night, 
to cut my veins, 
by the bright light of the moon, 
till the drinks wear off, 
and I lose my nerve.

These sins of the flesh, 
of course, 
have brought me down, 
down farther and farther, 
than any I have ever known, 
my soul, 
plumged into darkness, 
a darkness, not known, 
before or since, 
darkest nights, 
and the glamour of evil, 
resting only long enough, 
to catch its breath
so as to push me, 
further and harder, 
towards the far horizon, 
away from tenderness, 
into fire and heavy breathing.

Now pay homage to the secular confession, 
small office, 
well dressed doctor, 
the lamentations of all my psychic groaning.

All my favorite sins are on the menu, 
confessed, 
and chalked up to some brain malfunction, 
that is inexplicable, 
only to return to vice, 
not having learned a thing. 
all locked away in an iron cast, 
of anxiety and depression, 
with no one understanding, 
no one caring, 
no one reaching, 
no one trying,
no one talking, 
no one inviting, 
and with nothing to celebrate, 
the dying times that came and went, 
and hardened hearts that beat, skipping the parts they don't like, 
feeding on broken understanding, 
but still having just enough to make a point, 
that will always be ignored. 

Getting anxious, 
nervous, 
at all times covered up by alcohol, 
and weed, 
a lost year, 
of broken, 
hearts and never again, 
to be understood, 
taken and stolen, 
dignity removed, 
ugly whores and unpleasant dreams, 
who ever asked for this? 
all had gone from me, 
to selfish to realize, 
to proud to beg, 
just keep drinking, 
as life comes and goes, 
born and born again, 
into an endless night, 
a lack of progress, 
and deepening despair. 

The night has teeth and they gnash my flesh, 
pulling the desire to live from my soul, 
leading me to walk lonely streets, 
contemplating taking a jump from the bridge down by the waterfall, 
to sweep me away, 
in a suicidal baptism of water and blood, 
far away from the altar of the holy church, 
where I was baptized, 
and am now fallen dead in my sin. 

T. S. Deary 
11/6 - 12/11/23