There is not enough hate in Hell for you, or for myself for being so vulnerable to you. You are the one constant I know, a perennial backdrop of torment and taunting. Your derisive laughter echoes from my earliest hours to now. Every moment of joy or so-called triumph you unmask as a snare, just another height to get knocked down from. And I am stupid enough to get back up believing it will be different this time, chasing the mirage of hope farther into a void where nothing is real but pain.
You know exactly what I need, you know I'll come back so it doesn't matter what you do to me. Your timing is impeccable. You wait until I show some faint glimmer of courage to take a step toward whatever you're dangling in front of me, then you pull it away and it's still my fault. It's always my fault.
We think we know what love is, what good means, what we were made and meant to do and have and be. Love and good and purpose are whatever the guy with the gun says they are, unless someone stronger disarms him. Who's going to disarm God?
I feel invincible in this citadel of hate, but it won't last. He will either bitch-slap me back into submission or give me another fix so I keep chasing the mirage. Either way I'll come back, but what does that make me? And what hurts is that I know He is good and I'm not.
I doubt very much I can forgive Him for allowing me to exist. People say God doesn't make junk. I say He makes anything He wants, and does whatever He wants with it. I only wish I didn't care. I deserve all His hatred, and yours. I wish I could be and deserve better, but what do my wishes have to do with anything?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment