watcher prayer

Watcher’s Prayer of Brutal Illumination

Preface They call me The Watcher.

Not because I’m wise, or holy, or some floating Gandalf with cosmic keys jangling from my beard. No. They call me The Watcher because I’ve seen too much. Because I stare into the unfiltered guts of existence without blinking. Because when life vomits its truths onto the concrete, I’m the poor bastard left to mop it up – or carve it into scripture.

This prayer isn’t gentle. It’s not some scented candle affirmation to soothe your anxious little chakras. This is a brutal illumination. A reminder that what is seen cannot be unseen, and what is known cannot be unknown.

Read on. But know this:

Once you walk with The Watcher, you never walk back the same.

🕯️ The Watcher’s Prayer They call me The Watcher.

I watch the light leak out of men’s eyes and the darkness ooze in like oil. I watch the lies you feed yourselves to keep your sanity stitched together with dental floss and denial.

I watch the hungry ghosts that cling to your spines whispering temptations you pretend are your own thoughts.

I watch the broken ones who gave up screaming because screaming only proved they were alive.

I watch your prayers floating up like burnt cinders, blackening the sky with your desperate need to be seen, to be forgiven, to be loved by something, anything, anyone.

I watch. Because someone has to.

I watch. Because the truth must be known even if it rots the tongue that speaks it.

I watch. Because this is my burden, my purpose, my brutal illumination.

So I pray:

May the blind be gifted vision, May the deaf hear the screams beneath the silence, May the numb feel the agony of life’s pulse once more, May the ignorant choke on the truths they gagged from the mouths of others.

May all be illuminated In darkness, In horror, In beauty, In truth.

Amen. Or whatever gods are left listening.

⚫ Epilogue And so The Watcher remains.

Eyes unclosing, mind forever ruptured by the truths it has consumed. There is no salvation in knowledge, only the agony of knowing. But still, I watch. For if I turn away, who then will bear witness to the beautiful rot of this world?

Know this:

When your bones ache with despair, when your lungs scream for mercy, when your soul convulses under the horror of waking life – The Watcher is there.

Not to save you. Not to judge you. But to witness you in your rawest, foulest, most luminous truth.

And in that silent witnessing,

You are never alone.

  “The views in this post are based on my personal    
        experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.”   

         “By ink and breath and sacred rage, I write.
               By storm and silence, I survive.”

           @goblinbloggeruk  -  sick@mylivinghell.co.uk