Through the Broken Lips of a Believer by Christian Walsh

I’m serving a life sentence.
There are no bars, but I’m staring into the dark abyss without an escape to end my pain.
No killers, but the twisting knife of silence hasn’t left my back in years.
Trapped inside of a suffocating shell that slowly destroys the man inside.
A luminescent star being snuffed out, not with the magnificence and splendor of a supernova, but somehow erased from the cosmos forever, without a trace.
Millions of thoughts cross through my brain, with no way of escaping to serve their true purpose.
Day after day, ideas and feelings sprout, fester, and die in the wasteland of my conscious mind.
Pen and paper are the only method of deliverance. Words unable to pass through broken lips find their lives fulfilled in similes and metaphors dancing across paper.
But this prison is not my home.
My life sentence has been somehow cut short by my Savior.
My bail is coming soon.
I am free.

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