Theology

Sun, 05/25/2014 - 16:16 -- bihorel

For I have known the eyes already, known them all,

Eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,

And when I am formulated sprawling on a pin

When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall

 

And when the words leap out of their mouths

Like acid filled bullets

Lipstick bullets cannot hide the bloodied lips of tales and lies.

And sulfuric acid will rip apart my organs.

The toxic gas that leaks from a strategic point

Will poison fish and poison lungs

And little boys will carry spoons upon their chests.

 

The condom will break inside the little girl’s body.

My heart will break inside myself

And I wish I had the magnetism to put it back together

 

But I am human

And that means being broken.

 

The chemicals inside my brain are out of sync and out of tune

Because the world is an imperfect place

And perfection is a construct.

 

I have friend

And they’re terrified to live.

They don’t tell me the exact reason

But I’m pretty sure it’s because the world will only continue to devour their soul

In the race to first place.

And to them, the only way to get that gold medal

Is to pay with a silver razor to the inside of their wrist.

 

I don’t care about the afterlife.

I can’t care when the present is plagued with

Absent fathers, abusive mothers, people who tell us we’re not good enough.

I’m tired of broken homes.

I’m tired of people dying for useless causes.

I’m tired of being a puppet in the eternal battle of good versus evil.

I’m tired of waiting to live.

 

I don’t want my only hope to be a Heaven that may or may not exist.

I don’t want to live seventy years

Only to fall into a dreamless sleep when I take my dying breath.

And I don’t want my only legacy to rely on the world’s perception of me.

But most of all, I don’t want these hopes to be unrealistic.

 

I’m scared to hope.

I’m scared to live

And I’m scared to die.

And if I’m being honest,

I’m even scared to cry

Because what good will tears do

Besides eventually contribute to the rising sea levels.

 

Call me a cynic.

I think it’s the only good thing to be called today.

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