Sinner's Templum

** This has to be one of my oldest works. I ironed out some of the grammar and so forth: Now, all I need is you guys to post you comments in the comment section beloooooow. xDD

I hope you enjoy some of my older stuff.





Sinner's Templum


The minutes ticked slowly away. And as time drifted laboriously away, a man droned on in monotonous prayer. His voice was cracked and dry, its sound like that of wood being scraped of impurities. God kept the daemons away. They lay in fear at the divine script of the Lord's word. God seemed to keep the dark from creeping slowly into his prone mind. But as minutes turned to hours, and hours to days, his silent prayer shifted to desperate screams that echoed the padded walls of his own deranged mind.

He kissed the likeness of his messiah upon a crucifix; a small heirloom of sorts he carried at all times, a momento of sorts. The sweating man moved his fingers down his rosary, chanting a hurried prayer for each single bead he passed over. One, then two, then so on. However, the deranged specimen began to speak only curses - curses upon all of the physicians who spoke of, "You will be okay. Able to live in peace." But this was far from truth, a clean bill of health would never bring peace to his mind, nor save it from these daemons! Voices, so many, quiet whispers of, "Kill..tear..gnash!" spilled their corruption and enthralled his mind, so much so, his own name had become a distant memory - lost to him forever more. "Stop!" the man pleaded breathlessly, his voice light, dry, and nigh similar to a hiss, "I am a man of God! I didn't!.." But each tiny voice would never hear his cries.

And so, on the man's cold, run-down apartment flow, he lay twisted and in agony as his mind slowly ripped itself apart. He twitched and jerked at each and every sound with an uneasy, paranoid motion. The clock aside his position ticked and each small clicking sound caused his flesh to writhe in terror. Again, like the countless nights before, the passing of minutes would bring forth the night and end the day. And as the darkness fell, and the Sun sank into the horizon like a torch burning away in a damp cave, the voices would return.

But unlike the last advent of these incarnations of malice - whispers gave way to shouts and screams. There was one at first, then two, then three, then hundreds - thousands!!! And with their babble, the man clasped his hands over his ears, as if the voices themselves could pain him and cried out. However, his voice was muffled by the chanting cacophony that chattered and droned as if under some hypnotic trance. Vigilant, the man continued his prayer, hoping that by some dim light that he was worthy of salvation. But as he meditated, the voices chanted ever louder, bouncing their cries of unison off the man's already inflamed mind.

"I am a priest of the Lord!"

"Kill! Tear!"

"My Father save me!!!"

No reprieve ever found its way to the pleading man. Soon, without intervention, the man had regressed to some other, primordial state and ran about his high rise apartment in a rapid, wanton manner. He clasped his hands over his head and gave out a terrible yell. Furniture, lamps, personal affects were thrown, waltzed over, and shown no form of respect whatsoever as he ambled and sauntered about his self made prison. A waltz - that would be how one could describe this man. A meager, eager, insane dance of the purest psychotic chaos. He pushed himself out onto the balcony of the tenement and looked down from the dizzying height at the cars below. Their horns, sirens, and the sound of an inevitable crash muffled his cries, but not the voices that claimed dominion over his head, his mind. But what's more..His soul, and heart.

"Please! Lord! I am without Sin! protect me!"

"The boy! Remember the boy!"

The chants began to make the "priest" feel delirious and he nearly fell as the lights and
sounds of the city melted away into blackness. In that moment, his hands flashed a crimson. He
felt a warm, deeply red liquid seep through his fingers, he loved it! Feared it. Yet he reveled in its glory, what ever putrid satire of glory it could be deemed. Just in front of him lay a small boy. A deep crimson flooded from him in a nameless area, unknown to him. It made him feel satisfied and safe. As if the young boy's eternal silence had bought him sanctity.

"No! MY GOD! I did-did not!"

"Oh, but you did."

"No.."

"You used your position, it's easy to catch 'em when they trust you."

"I am not a sinner!"

"But you are! You are a sinner! A murderer! You did this! You wish it again! It pools within you. The rage, the hate."

The man cowered on his knees in exasperated prayer, in realization now, "The lord is my Shepard."

"God cannot save you. You fell."

"He leadeth me in the path of Righteousness!"

"That righteousness is hypocrisy!"

"Yea I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death.."

"You shall never forget!" The voices whispered louder

"Thou anointest my head with oil. My cup runneth over!"

"You turned your back on your Lord!" louder still, drowning his prayer with psychotic ranting.

"I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever!"

The devout man crumbled to a fetal position. At his foundation lay insanity and rage.Though fighting himself to tears, of a child, he knew this now. Like an undeniable truth, he knew. The voices laughed in a sinister, shrill manner, until a pious man's brain was overrun by hate, their hate. His hate. The sinner's head began to pulsate with their unmistakable urge. Tears streamed the man's face as he despaired."Save me my Father!"

In that moment, he saw the truth. The voices were not daemons, but him. He was the evil, the sin. They would never go away. They would never leave him be! His mind lay aflame in anger! Is his God the one who did this to him? "You will save me!" The sinner called out in defiance to his Lord. No salvation came. None would come to a heathen of his own free will. As the night hours ticked away, 12 a.m, then 2, then 4, it seemed as if he would never feel peace and sanctity. How was it possible!? He was a sinner a murderer-and thereby damned! He stood finally, his knees wobbling with some form of sickening fear. It was funny, in that one moment, it went quiet. Too quiet, silent..the silence of death. It was ironic, that the voices ceased their vigil, the second he cleansed himself of the guilt. The moment a sinner, once pious, devout to his Lord, broke down. The moment, he hurled himself out into the dawning light...

In a box

**I wrote this to mess with all kinds of rules. Tell me if you get it~
And if you don't.

In a box

In a box
one can see,
one wall, two wall, and even three;
up above is blocked, clogged, and drab:
white walls, cracked and bland.

They're all ready for shipment
to the designated homes;
matched by eyes, cheeks, and nose;
to be quartered, processed, and closed.

Inserted with a chip,
that dictates what they do,
all the while, specimens roam with no clue.
They control what to eat, sleep, and wake
and say when to be stalwart, spontaneous, and fake.

In a box
they can see,
themselves, one man, two men, and three.
And all around them is blocked, clogged, and drab;
white prison cells, cracked and bland.

But is it ironic,
when you finally know,
out of the box is where you choose not to go?
To splash color upon the walls is unjust and wrong,
when the masses stifle your voice and song.

So then it becomes so obvious and real,
your soul is their sweet nectar to steal.
And now you're forced to do naught but submit,
when they lock you in labyrinth and crypt.

And then in the box
you can see,
one wall, two wall, and even three.
Up above is blocked, clogged, and drab.
Just outside the walls I am watching you,
clawing at the tapestry.