Sometimes I wish something bad had actually happened in my past so I’d have an excuse to be so depressed. I wish the sky had stared down at me and the ground had ripped apart at my feet. I wish I had fallen into the depths of hell over something more than the crying shame my wasted strength had become. I wish I had gone flailing into the darkness instead of simply slipping through a veil of silence with careful consideration.
But no, no, no. That would be too proper.
I watched myself descend and then one day I woke up thinking I hadn’t seen it all happen. Maybe hell freezes over sometimes, but I have never known it to do anything more than burn like toast left too long. Crisp and empty. Frantic and hopeless. Every emotion and none all at once. And so we sit and suffer as the gods ask why we shed tears.
The world spins round and our tears make seas and our blood runs like leaks in old drain pipes, crusting over and weeping anew like newborn babies do. Sorrow fills souls and character is no more. And so we sit and suffer as the gods ask why we shed tears.
Chills creeping through dried up hearts, dust spewing into misused veins. Terror chugs like chaotic trains and inside your mind you twist and turn the prospect of your disillusionment. And so we sit and suffer as the gods ask why we shed tears.
Most experiences a perfect in-between, bearing no solid roots and no foreseeable future. And so it goes, a living, breathing parallel to your own metaphorical writer’s block. The sun halting in the sky, making a mere mockery of your existence. It begs for you to break away and create some sort of distance. The fires of hell burn far too long and lick away at any resolve. And so we sit and suffer as the gods ask why we shed tears.
Maybe this is crazy. Maybe we’ve riled ourselves into some sort of mess. Maybe all that is worth seeing has been discovered and unearthed. The human eye is a thing to bequeath upon the souls of the deserving. And here we lie, unsteady yet visually unswerved. Our vision of understanding – a gift, yet native in its quest. And our weeping hearts crushed simply by our vices. And so we sit and suffer as the gods ask why we shed tears.
Tears slip streams into unconscious minds and lie in wait to be discovered. And there you sit, all innocence, with nothing left uncovered. Here, heaven cracks like baked desserts and hell seeps through its pores. I never knew hell to be much more, than such sweet heaven fell asunder. Carelessly left too long, forgotten and cursed in its continuation. How dare the world forget? How dare the angels skitter past instead of stop and croon? And so we sit and suffer as the gods ask why we shed tears.
Then suddenly, questions cease swirling, a tornado slipping into a deadly calm. Your head clears and the sun shines inside your mind, and you see it. You finally understand and everything makes sense. And so you sit but the suffering numbs, and though the gods seem to quiet their curiosity, it’s almost worse that way. And as the world comes to a stop, the answers sink in. So you sit by yourself with foggy words clouding your mind, floating like boats in a sea of unconsidered thoughts. And as the question begs once more, why must you shed tears? That is when you realize…
It is because there are no gods after all.
Wrote this a long time ago. It's pretty dark.
