The Sinful Prayer

Volo is but a human, and who is a human when faced with a God?

Almighty Angel, may you arise,
Fill me with your strength and grace.
As we trust in you, O’ Mighty Angel,
Hear our prayers, Our Dear Lord.


         The voice has arisen, dreadful without a breath. Paired with a strain of words, sinful as they can be, with prayer-like requests — for more, for better, for anything he could take, like the overwhelming sinful pleasure was nothing to him, but a mere feeling of not enough. For him, truly, he wanted more.
         The sin is a masterful deception, as it lures you in with a second of pleasure, a mere moment of forgetting yourself in the sea of joy, luring you in forgetting about your own God. Then it pushes you deeper, deeper into your own desires, deeper into your own weaknesses.
         Deeper, deeper.
         And for deeper, he was screaming, oh, he was even begging, for deeper, for harder, as blood dropped from his veins, staining him red, both of them red. Staining them as sinners.
         Filled his veins with gushing gold, fitting for a God, yet the gold was a false one - mixed with blood of the fallen, blood of his own humanity, his past self looking at him with eyes as red as they were alive.
Him looking at himself, in those tinted blue eyes, worshipping not a God, but a prophet, the palm of God’s hand, might, the human needs, the human rights.
         The human touch, consuming him. Making him lose his thoughts, his mind, one by one, in the sea of dread, uncertainty. The sounds of oasis, sweet lost holiness, as his body was held, touched, whispers filled his ears, overcame the sounds, made him weak. He was but a human, weak to natural pleasures, weak to his instincts, weak to his own needs and weak to the absence of God, weak to sin.
         A weak man, not a chosen one.
         A man of sin, of shame, of human instincts.

You worship False God, they say
Yet the Angel is Mighty, Alive,
Praise us as we praise you, Almighty,
With the heart out, in your own hand.


         Pushed down, with his head held down by the back of his neck, he felt his own breath, surrounding him and holding him, as more sounds escaped his mouth with joy, with pleasure, the blinding pleasure, driving him insane.
         The binding hand of the man who held him, who was making him belong to him with every action he took, reminding him how far he is from his God right now, how consumed in his own sins he is, how badly he wanted it.
         He wanted more.
         He wanted to be even further.
         His humanity made him want to feel loved, to feel full, to feel like he was alive, like he was someone’s . He wanted to belong, not only to humanity, but wanted to belong to a certain human, to belong, to be owned, to be loved, to be loved, to be loved…
         He felt a metallic taste on his lips, his skin marked red, his body marked red, with stains, with marks. Marks made it more colorful, with purple, brown, colors he couldn’t even describe filling his body, marks of touch, marks of others lips, marks of teeth.
         Marks of all the things he had let him do with him.
         Marks of all the things he wanted him to do with him.
         Marks of all the things he begged him to do with him.
         He begged, with eyes filled with tears. The tears flowing down his cheeks, and his holiness right with them, his God right with them.


The heart is still beating, as Mighty,
You keep it alive for eternity.
Shine on us brightly, Sweet Angel,
Shine on us till the eternity fades.

Forgive me, o’ Almighty Angel,
For I sinned, dirtied your name.
But if this is to part us for now,
I’ll go as far as your Holy name stands.