an untouched, perfumed candle idly sat upon its pure-toned mantle, a gift blessed upon me from my own mother. the configuration of a guardian angel, an image of an ethereal auburn-haired presence whose feathered wings enveloped a young boy and girl. an incarnation of the heavens above – the omniscient presence that guides his children. 

atop the windowsill, the symbol of virtue remained static. a gift from the heavens that observed the transitional phases of my newfound circumstances – the night of move-in day, the first day of class, the all-nighter before finals, and crash-out after crash-out after crash-out. 

each day it watched, left unacknowledged, virgin and pristine. a taunting reminder of the past; early sunday mornings under the architecturally divine. situated in the balconies, the closest i’d be to the heights of heaven, an all-knowing view of the cathedral’s congregation. god’s creations neatly confined under goliath-sized arches, ornate columns of harmony, and transcendent colored light that leaked through stained glass windows. 

oh how i used to sing my praises to those mornings. to lie and say i still do would be committing a sin. 

i am constantly reminded of the past. everything is littered with the words of the church and the divine. there’s no separation between church and the state of being. piety persuades everything; our morals, our media, and our laws. there’s no escaping god’s grace. i, however, choose to neglect it. 

forever excommunicated, i’ve lost the relationship to the believed creator. personally, i respect his intentions. it’s the ones who preach his wisdom who’ve made me a judas. the same men who pray against the sins i commit, prey upon the minds of the innocent. i could no longer stay complicit to spewed hatred that reverberated against the caves of the chapel. an intense guilt possessed me whenever leviticus 18:22 echoed towards the heavens. as the preacher passionately proclaimed, i understood i praticed the very sins the clergy urged against, which caused me to squirm against the wooden bench of the carpenter. i understand god loves us despite our sins, but god is no human. humans hate and will make that quite explicit. 

on a particularly difficult saturday night, nearing twilight, i swirled a glass of red wine within its confines of a solo cup. the maroon whirlpool of his blood, a source of jubilee amongst the darkest hours of life. yet not even the palate cleanse of j.c’s salvation could expel the demons of guilt and shame that haunted the tombs of my mind. a permanent state of purgatory — the temptations of regret that dictated every action of life. 

that morning, i rose to the chime of birds singing their praise, their song a bible hymn. i returned to an innocent state of being, the one of a believer, the one of a young child. the light leaked through the parted sea of curtains, the rays of the third day spotlighted that of my mother. she echoed the birds and cooed, an extended wingspan held me near and dear. in those moments, i was reassured, returned to faith. this spiritual hallucination didn’t last long, however: i opened my eyes and i’m reminded of my skepticism. 

once awakened, i’m suffocated in the clouds of intense anxieties. the constant uncertainty and dread that bewitched the spirit, what was once pure, now corrupted. i am forever haunted by whispers of the devil. the haunting of an inner-saboteur, manifesting spellbinding whispers of uncertainty: 

“everyone hates you” / “you talk too much” / “you’re hideous” / “everyone is making fun of you” / “no one takes you seriously” / “you are not good enough” / “you will never find love” / “everyone pities you” … 

there comes a point when you can no longer take these burdens. no exorcism would expel these cynicisms. whether truth or falsity, it will forever destroy me. i try to expel these serpents of shame, yet my mind continues to charm them. i try everything. i pray, i write, i cry. nothing works. god knows i try. 

near meltdown, i peered to my left. a virgin candle reached for me. the image of the guardian angel compelled me. i never had interest in giving in, but, in the darkest days, you turn to anything. in holy matrimony, i brought lighter to wick and let there be light. 

in the wake of flame, the fragile inferno flickered faintly. the saccharine aroma of roses clouded the air, the distinct scent of eden that tempted eve. from the corner of my eye, i gazed upon the eternal flame, the symbolic sight of destruction and refuge. 

grasping upon the glass, the fire seared the tips of my fingers. a sensation of sadistic pleasure that progressed throughout the soul, body, and mind. the prayer inscribed on its rear-end shone, a blurb of text i never considered to cite until this lonely holy hour. 

prayer to the guardian angel

spirit protector, who gives constant protection to me, my loved ones, and my friends who help me. give guidance to those who assist me with answers to my problems and give them comfort to my soul. reveal to me what i must do tomorrow. and give me strength and courage to my afflicted spirit. 

make my problems disappear and restore my faith… 

before i could say amen, the clocktower marked sunday morning and the promise of deliverance vanished at the mere strength of a slightest breeze. smoke lingered upwards to the heavens, faith evanesced. a sorrowful reminder of my faith, like a candle in the wind. 

as much as i try, no prayer could restore my faith. that’s something i’ve come to terms with. i try and try, yet will never be guided by god’s glory. 

god knows i love / god knows i lied / god knows i lost / god gave me life 

and god knows i try

• amen.