It’s time, isn’t it? Time to write it down, spit it out, give it up.
But I don’t want to.
You have to.
But I’m scared.
None the less, its your bed made. You have to.
Are you ready?
Go ahead anyway.
There is a thing still lying in wait. A something – ever-hungry, heavy, dark, and leech-like – looming just beneath my surface.
I can feel it there always.
This thing, this Bastard, howls in foreboding glee. Safe in the assumption that I am too scared to ever acknowledge it. Satisfied in knowing that I am piss-fearful that if I ever did, it would surely decimate me.
Leave me for dead.
This thing, this Poison, is the same thing I have felt gnawing with greasy lips before. The very thing I have previously – with eyes tearfully squeezed hard shut – ignored, all in the hopes that it would simply go away.
This thing, this Sin, is the director of my nightly ‘mares, the driver of my attacks of anxiety, the detriment to my finally being able to straighten my life, my faith, my forgiveness, my moving onward.
My growing upward.
This thing, this parasitic Fuck, is the last thing I must give to Him. The thing that only He can destroy. I believe this to be true, I want it to be done. And yet this thing I can’t even name. This thing I need to hand over, I can’t see, nor yet look in the eye.
I only feel it, know that it is there.
Lord, please take this thing from me. I don’t know its name, but please rip this overly fattened tick from my soul. I am not strong enough to give it to you. I know this, and I’m so sorry for my weakness. But if I ask You to take it instead, will that count?
If I ask You, will that good enough?
If so, then please. Please, and now.
There is a thing still lying in wait. A something that is slowly bleeding me, and if I hope to be complete again, this thing has to be removed.
This something has to die.
The first time I’ve ever used a prompt prior to the actual post, within the introduction. This one coming from the good people over at the Write On Edge community.