The wretched hate

The Wretched Hate 

I told you i was scattered around like confetti on some stale cake, that is to say my aesthetic or characteristic value could never be forgotten beyond the rottenness of the place i am at. Noone would dare even touch it, let alone taste. Another cliche, bloody Mary, i want to play, invite her over and watch her pinning numbers on my head, be thoughtless, no mind at all! I rarely mind, maybe that's why when i do, my tears fall like a glacier's remains, it's flooding. My heart is an ice and you broke it, just let it slip from your hands, you broke it, i thought you wouldn't. 

It's human nature, it could all be so easy, you and me and us and everything. your side-glances hurt me more than anyone's hands could , maybe your hands could hurt me more than any hands could, because they are meant to be soft. Your silence makes my heart bleed, so much. I can only bleed so much before i collapse, crying and throwing up because out of everyone else, you're not supposed to make me cry. Your face reminds me of something warm and kind and so does your touch, how can your words and indifference be so Antarctic?

I can't confuse affection for the lack of it, but if i don't get loved the way my language is, why would i want it? Why must i want it? Tell me? Please? Why am i not lovable? I keep playing the victim because open wounds that closed for so long hurt when someone rips the stitches, now its rotten too, the flesh around it must smell. I am so repulsive that my mind picks the empathy game, i empathize with anyone but me. I am hurt and i am sane, i don't need life to remind me that hurt has been my friend. Please! no more.

The God Dilemma

The God Dilemma

There's the urge to kill myself, not me but her, the one whose flesh I feed and nurture. I keep going in roundabouts ways and the fragments of memories seem to be the little plays that could have been played out differently altogether. The rebellion is baseless; the acts acted upon it is pointless too. From all the things in the universe, the entitled 'god' sins the most, it's the moral shade that holds the deliberative harm by forged lie of kindness and promised comparison, which by default, doesn't add up. If I'd question, you'd ask me why? and ridicule me when my words aren't leaning towards your answers. If God existed, he must come to me and all I'll want to know is 'Has he sinned today?'. For i believe being human was the default to sin, excused my chivalry for self-effacing jokes and confused your mockery for love. I assumed he'd know not to do something detrimental. i just assumed the god's gender, didn't i? my bad! let me put it this way, i believe they don't care much. I'm small, infinitesimal but tiny.

But i imagined, in the universe without God, I'd have still searched for it, the all-knowing entity sounds quite of an escape. Existence is a spider web, and you're a mere fly. That's the way i see it because the only way out for you would be death. The idealisms and the efforts, the act of finding God would actually mean something to me there, because I'd know they aren't there, I think I'd be compelled to search more. In this universe, I'd just declare me God and rule over it. The universe without, without God is yours. All yours. And the joy of imagining it is wicked.