Hell's Kitchen Confessional

How is it, that I still have to wait my turn,
Even when there is no one else here?
I stare at the stained glass,
It allowing only the slightest bit of distorted light
To shine down upon me --
Sinful little me.

The claustrophobic darkness of this confessional
Is killing me,
But what’s killing me even more
Is keeping it all inside.
Father forgive me, for I have sinned.
The priest prods me,
Prying into my mind as if it were his own.
I’ve never understood why I can’t just talk to You.
Am I not special enough?
Not holy enough to be a saint?

Sweat drips down my back,
Hard wood bench forcing me to sit upright,
When all I really want is to slip away.
The silence my only sign of reluctance
To give up my secrets,
My leaving making it all the clearer where I truly belong.

The sidewalk is a much more suitable place
For so wicked a soul as I.
Watching the heat rise off the asphalt streets,
Hearing the children’s skewing calls from the park,
Now I can bow my head in prayer,
Be as close to You as I want to be.
Misgivings fly from quickly moving lips,
Though no more than a whisper escapes them.
On blackened wings they’ll fly
From this Hell’s Kitchen confessional,
Revealing to the world, the true me.