Prayer for the paranoid and doom fated.

the paranoid, i see you, because i am one of you.

A new day has began, the dyes of liquid light luminating into your room seem all too non existent, except for the orange hues of the room unto your stained glass skin. Your reflection in the mirror, tired, gruesome, picturesque of the wailing Mary. Your eyes are stuck on yourself as you begin to accommodate over how early you have risen. You begin to complain, you are left desensitized over the early mornings and the initiation of your eyes and the constant repeating days and you are just waiting till you can end and rejoice in the name of slumber. Lord, hear me.

the lights are gone. after a huge blast, you think you’ve seen God but instead, visions of an unnatural appearance relocates from one end of the room to the other. you are frantic, clutching on to the rosary dangling on your chest, sending mental prayers to the most high to send you protection because not only was this thing standing behind you, it was filling your inner thoughts every single minute, mass has began, and paranoia’s priest is to start his readings. Lord, save me.

You walk out of your door with a bright flash in hand, the holy spirt shining through out the dark of the corridors, you walk down the stairs with a fragility, turning your back every minute over the fact that their something out there, something lurking and waiting for the moment where it can hold you by your flesh and tear it apart from skin to bone. Lord, acknowledge me.

You read in between the lines of the verses you have internalized in your head, that something is coming for you and it will not be very considerate towards how you feel. It will hit you a hundred times, serve you whiplash on a silver platter and you will be bound to leather to think of it. The first reading has come from the book of Monomania, which states that “You will forever think of death being your neighbour and your life hanging on the end of a cliff with paranoia’s imagery ready to kill you off.” Lord, preserve me.

The air is timid yet biting, it is endearing but ready to constrict your blood vessels and once again, you feel it somewhere, prancing on your skin and turning your insides to mush when the thought of who (or what) could possibly be around you, and you feel blood rushing to your head, a sense of grim as you look around, and ultimately find nothing, paranoia has eaten at your brain and it is ready to consume your body the way you consume your communion. Lord, sanctify me.

What did that poem say? “With tall walls wall me/…with wise lies lure me/… in blood- baths roll me.” MacNiece was right, the chaos of the world’s taken a toll on you and you need all the aid you could ever get, the infinite clones of dark matter that keep reaching your location and you need someone to hold you and tell you you’re fine, that the mirage of death is not as soon as you may think and is definitely not from what you saw recently. Lord, rejuvenate me.

You kneel on the pews of your fear, feelings at it’s high as you wonder whether it was right, whether the priest of your mind who read the old testament’s stories of death by flying or the man between the wall’s out to you was truly the reliable source, the one who would preach to you sermons on your need to be rid of the earth like scum! It was all true! It was all true! Lord, purify me.

The lights are back on, the one hour and 30 minutes of fear and panic, you feel refreshed, you can now see the stained glass, the orange hues and the light of the world. You realise, the persecution complex that reign through out your body was but a glimpse of the ache of your mind. Rejoice! The Lord has come upon us! You walk out because the mass of paranoia is done. Go forth, The mass is ended.