Bottle of Faith

The warmth of a rum sunset trickles through my mind and I worship that old religion at the alter where my mother prayed for a lifetime over water spotted vessels brimmed with unholy sacraments of sterile blood. Mouth to mouth repentance mumbles lip to glass, lonesome confessions and desperate rituals ration what's left of my life; blessing by blessing, providence by providence to feed my impotent faith in bottled miracles. Yet, no matter how absolute my surrender, my sacrifice, no matter how deeply I drown the immortal victim within the guilt sobers and I kneel again.