tell me something, whisper it to me, and dont let any of it leak away into a night that is our last
why are things the way they are? youve asked yourself a million times. youve sat on the edge of your bed, held your head in your hands and thought to yourself, why? why are things like this? is this meant to be this way? is there a reason, hidden, beneath a hide i cannot peirce? or is it something oh so much smaller, so much more insignificant...do i need it to be for a reason? or can i shrug my heaving shoulders indifferently, while i collapse inside, while events tumble into a dissaray with narry a smudge of releiving rhyme or reason. and you pray. you pray, on your knees, before a god that has been drilled into your stone heart since childhood, pray to a god whos hands over a society you boldly force your way through are waning, losing their dominence and respectability. you pray, holding up a beleif long since diminished in your adolescent eyes. you ask, dear jesus, dear father, make this stop. make it end, and see a heart so full of love for this religion that we can never understand. wave your beautiful hands over this world, and flood it once again, wash it pure, wash me pure. cleanse a soul that i can no longer look upon...cleanse the soul that makes me shudder and cringe in despairing pain, my own. but to no avail. god does not wave his hands. god does not soothe your pain, your infinitismal pain, your excruciating pain, a pain that rips you in half from head to foot, slicing through a heart, your heart, smashing through walls you had built around that heart, your heart. and you crumble, on the edge of your bed, and let the sobbing come. and you do nothing to choke them back. you cry. back into the childhood, where god was pounded into you not as a faith but as an authority. back to that childhood, oh how you wish you could be there again. you slowly notice your fingers are clutching your hair, ready to tear it out at the next wave of panicky realization. the realization, the epiphany that you have lost something. a peice of yourself. a peice of that heart, your heart. you rock slowly back and forth, easing a broken spirit. a broken faith. a broken...life? yes. a broken life. a life with a chunk hacKed violently out of it. why? WHY GOD DAMMIT WHY WHY ARE THINGS THE WAY THEY ARE WHY ARE THINGS LIKE THIS ARE YOU PUNISHING ME HAVE I NOT SUNG LOUD ENOUGH IN CHURCH ON SUNDAY? WERE MY SHOES NOT SHINY ENOUGH FOR THE HOLY GHOST? WERE MY CLOTHES NOT PERFECTLY PRESSED AND IRONED? DID I NOT PRAY WITH VEHEMENCE WHEN TOLD TO BOW MY HEAD? DID I NOT? DID I NOT? DIDNT I SERVE YOU AS WELL AS I WAS CAPABLE? OR ARE YOPU JUST BITTER? MUST YOU TAKE FROM ME THE ONLY THING IVE HAD AND NOT NEEDED TO GROVEL FOR? MUST YOU STEAL? MUST YOU LOWER YOURSELF, OH GOD, TO THE STATUS OF A PETTY THEIF? CAN YOU BE THAT CRUEL?
yes. and he is. he has, he has taken from me.
and you cry some more. and you rock some more. and your head spins crazily with thoughts of damnation, of a burning hell, of eternal pain JUST LIKE THIS. the pain of infinite loss. of a death too early for your adolescent brain to fathom. your mind works, cranking, the speed of light, like a strobe lamp off the smoke screen that is your conscience. your head spins, and you cry, until finally, you sleep.
yes. and he is. he has, he has taken from me.
and you cry some more. and you rock some more. and your head spins crazily with thoughts of damnation, of a burning hell, of eternal pain JUST LIKE THIS. the pain of infinite loss. of a death too early for your adolescent brain to fathom. your mind works, cranking, the speed of light, like a strobe lamp off the smoke screen that is your conscience. your head spins, and you cry, until finally, you sleep.