Doubts about the Creator
sometimes overtake me.

There is a dichotomy between God
and Coincidence. It can often
be difficult to discern where the line is drawn.

And from this lack of proper discernment
is born doubt.

The story of the widow is so sad,
I'm not surprised she took her life.

The old lady, surely depressed
stabbed herself twice with a knife.

She was widowed, you see,
by her husband's ex-wife.

Who was overwrought with jealousy.
She came like a thief in the night.

When the widow found him dead,
of course, she was riddled with grief.

And amid her wailing,
she managed to call the police.

They did their job, but the arrest
could not offer relief.

And over the years, her moments of happiness
became more and more brief.

I was unperturbed when I'd heard the news
of the old widow's suicide.

But the woman in the cell next to mine,
hooted and cheered with boisterous pride.

Giants we think we are,
but no bigger than pebbles
on our Creator's shoe.
Compared to our potential
we are sub-par

And yet, we think we are succeeders.

We do to escape
the feeling of inevitable death
Soon to be bones in the dirt.
Zombies already walking, I'd say
I surely feel dead inside,

And yet, we think we are alive.

Imprisoned to eternal sin,
Beat the young and betray our kin,
****, pillage, and become tyrants.
We think we are giants
but we only do low deeds to feel tall.

And yet, we think we have morale.

Grandiosity has plagued the soul,
We do to get away with
and bury morality in our future graves.
Teach children bad behavior
and punish them for it.

And yet, we blame the times.

I blame the lovers of themselves;
the all-for-one thinkers.
We believe we are giants
but pay no mind to the mound
of sinking sand we stand upon.

And yet, we think we're going up.

Voice, do rectify,
Bindings to a prophesy
Arms flail about ritualistically
in tandem with the incantation.

Air becomes disturbed,
and voice box erupted,
strain the pitch, Nature is stunted,
Life breathing its last breath.

Hands pointed downward to the sky,
And the universe shifts,
Throat clenches in a final cry,
And caliginosity awakens,

Birds change their song,
they sing in darker tunes
in light of darker times to come
The sun takes back its light from the moon.

Chaos ensues.
He peers his head over the horizon,
His eyes offer no truce.
Instead, to force his wrath upon the people.

Monks prophesied he would come.
To I that summoned,
his presence is welcome,
Smile takes my cheeks.

O'er the distance, voices shriek,
driven mad with murderous instinct,
slaying lives, I stand watching from the peak
None could escape the vicious rage.

By the end, all as a deserted cage,
The ground cold, people lay dead,
Chaos reared his malicious head.
I stand on the precipice, laughing deranged.

Your love was a fire you lit only sometimes,
leaving me otherwise of its warmth deprived.
The emotional heaving of my chest
for the pain you caused me was best
expressed in the dark of night,
where you couldn't see my inner fight.

Your love was not just a stab to my chest
but a slow twist of the knife.
I was left to mend myself alone,
then perform as though I was brand new
every time.

What terrible sorrow it is
to know there is a world of souls to talk to,
yet the only ones I can find
to share company with
are the devils inside my mind.

They work me into delusions
using their power to keep me locked
so far up in my head
that I am disconnected from my body.

Self destroy, they tell me.
They protect me from the sting of the blade
that I take to my own skin,
******* it into a void somewhere in their realm
so that I feel nothing
no matter how deep I go.

They tell me how easy
it would be to break my wrist.
Tell me how good it would feel
to bash my head until I see the stars.

The world is ending, they tell me
so end with it.
They give me sights of fire, ember and ash,
let me see a glimpse of their world,
inspire me to draw them.
But art no longer feels like a creative outlet
When I see what they made me draw,
I feel an endless doom.
There can be no hope in the world
with these devils of mine running about.

They give me a plan
one that ensures a quick death.

When I resurface I realize,
I am in a hospital.
The nurses give me medication
to take the voices away.

You're okay, they tell me.
You're okay

I knew there was another world out there somewhere
A world better than the one that was created in here
gestures to my head
"What is it?" The nurses ask.
"Does your head hurt?"

"No," I say. "My friends are gone."

I wanted a love
that I could smell, feel, and see.
A love that looks vibrant red,
feels like a swollen heart,
and smells more piquant
than the salt of the sea.

And finally, I found it.

The pit of my stomach
clenches when I am around you
And my eyes search for yours
but instead they look through
the empty sockets in your skull.

I hold your heart in my hands
literally,
and it drips,
pouring love's fluid
all over the floor.
And your eyes, I find swimming
in the corked jar filled with formaldehyde.
To preserve them, so that I may always
know the ocean blue.

I bask in your fragrance
as it consumes the air around me;
stronger and more pungent
than the scent of sea salt,
but oh, so pleasant.

I lay myself next to you,
and let my touch
sink its warmth into your cold skin.

This love looks vibrant;
As vibrant as the red
that sloppily coats my hands,
Feels mushy and swollen,
like this heart of yours I hold
close to my own,
And smells sharper,
Sharper than the knife I used
to gently, and with care,
cut it out.