Running, Just the road and I, My feet meet the pavement, The dark swallows me, I am all alone. Running, The lines on the road, Stretch and move with me, Heavy breathing and tired footsteps echo, I just keep running, Just keep going, Until I am gone, Gone forever, No looking back, There is no stopping me now. Running.
Nothing but hypocritical bastards staring at me like I have three heads as I take a seat in my usual pew on the right. Do they really think I don’t feel their sharp eyes stabbing me in the back, all because I don’t dance to the beat of their track? I’m not the monster they make me out to be, for they are the ones with the two faces, canting lies.
It’s the first Sunday of the month; communion. I try to sit and wait patiently for my turn to walk up and take the body and blood of Christ, but the short five minute wait starts to feel like hours. The stares of the people are heavy, cold, and unnerving. Now it's my turn and I stand up and all eyes lay on me. Time slows and crawls by with every step that I take. My feet feel heavy with the weight of all the people on me and my breath feels heavy and thick. I try to focus my attention forward, but lose focus and see the faces of the church. Seeing their faces was like reading their minds. "Filthy". "Sick". "Go to hell, Sinner!". "Depraved Faggot!". "You don’t belong here. Leave. God hates you." Every face I passed had cold looks and bad thoughts. The twenty second walk to the alter seemed never-ending.
Standing in the front of the church the tension was high as if they were waiting for me to turn into a pillar of salt or for a lightning bolt from the heavens to strike me down at the will of their god. How dare I pray to their god when I am what I am? I try to keep a straight face through all it all, trying not to let them know it’s getting to me. It was never supposed to happen like this, they were never supposed to find out. I was Outed by the pastors snooty, bible-hugging daughter, Daphne. She’s a bitch... that’s simplest way to put it.
I eat my stale, dusty tasting piece of bread and sip the dirty old wine for my forgiveness and take back my seat in my usual old pew on the right. I sit back and zone off into my own world; a world where the words of the preacher are just distant, muffled sounds that mean nothing. Occasionally I feel the wondering eyes of the real sinners. To them I chose to be this, I chose to become the outsider and the sinner. Why would anyone in their right mind choose this life? I had once believed, but my faith has been taken from me.
The long painful hour was finally ending and I was ready to bolt out the doors and get on with my life. As I began to put on my coat, I was tapped on the shoulder by Daphne.
“Why don’t you come to church on Tuesday? We have a little group that gets together.” She says, seeming proud of herself. “We can all talk and help make you better. You know, ungay. Come back into the light, no need to dance in the dark with the devil.”
I can't help myself! I just look at her with a smirk and say, “No thanks. There's nothing like dancing in the dark! See you in Hell!”. With that, I walk away with a wide smirk on my face. I once heard somebody say that the only way to enjoy life is to sing as though no one is listening and dance as if no one is watching. Well, when you're dancing in the dark, no one can see you, so what better way to get the most out of the one life you're given?
It's just you, me, and the pressure of the lights shining down. Two AM and our eyes are bloodshot as we try to keep our poker faces. I call you and raise your bet. You have something good but I think I have you beat. You call my raise. In my hand, the three Jacks and two aces are talking to me. My hand is good but the stakes are high and the pressure is killing me. What are you thinking? I feel the hearts in my hand beat and the Jacks are screaming, or is that me?
Heart beats and bombs shaking houses tears f a l l i n g flooding the floors thoughts EXPLODING ripping off roofs blood r u n n i n g looking for shelter in the middle of a war heart strings are strum and m u s i c is made for the climax of the tragedy happening all around, Love was spilled and stained our shirts frustration is being built as patience c r u m b l e s I don't want to lose you or your perfect imperfections in the chaos of stupidity I wont surrender you unless it kills me.
I’m just a little black pot, Placed on the back burner, And forgotten about. I don’t ask for much, Just an occasional stir. I sit and wait on the fire, Steaming, simmering, and boiling away. I just wait and burn, And when the timer rings, You will remember, But I’ll be too hot for you to handle. Then you will have to wait, Just as I did. And burn.