My rod and staff comfort me.

Death Of My Twin For Christmas!

I am here, but am I?  What to do, what to think?  So many questions, I need a strong drink.

Forever is gone with the wind, how can I live without you my twin? 

I am speechless, so very lost for words.  How can an empathic prophet be lost for words?

Poetic poison running through my mind, as I’ve been up for days in a dark haze.

  • I will forever be amazed by the glorious days we shared.  I tell myself this is no loss.  If it weren’t for the old rugged cross, I would be dead too in my sin.  
  • Faith, Faith, and more Faith.  I am a rambling mess of a messenger.  A Prophet without words to prophesy.  The Word of the Living God is written on my heart; however, I don’t know where to start.
  • Who am I to question your ways?  Apparently, you found pleasure in my pain.  You had to take my twin for Christmas.  It’s a good thing that my Faith is so strong, or I would blaspheme your name.  This is a God-Blessed damn shame.  Am I cursed?  
  • Let your Spirit give me comfort, and rest my soul in your knowledge.  

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