Waiting for conviction and that dull thud of expected guilt
Afraid of the sharp clamp of conscience, but more afraid it will not come
The fuzzy hum of delayed repentance and the dirt
Still clinging to the back of my eyeballs
Hurt, but oh how easy it would be to just forget and
Run till exhaustion erases everything
Stare at a lightbulb so I can’t feel the sun’s gaze.
But what good is false repentance? Addressed but undirected
Manufactured tears punctuating quickly rehearsed emotions
Worn out words with threadbare meaning
Stumble out in a rush to quiet my conscience
Just a drive-by sacrifice on the altar of shame
Rite complete, I turn down the old street.
Shame, shame, shame
I’m twisted up and broken down
Crying on the floor
And he’s more real than the floor
How could I forget what it feels like to feel him?
Change, change, change!
Melt my will and purge the dross
Make me want to want to change
I know that’s a lot and I knew what it cost
But oh, break my whoring heart and grave deep, Lord
The pulse of your words
I need words I don’t know and sincerity that I’ve destroyed.
I’m so afraid of sunrise, afraid I’m the morning mist
Christ, I can’t do this. All that’s left is you
Repentance by Michael Taron
