Here I am once again my Dearest;
I am here writing to you once again great disasterpiece creator.
I motherfucking hope that you are happy.
Will my overall being suffice? Or does my vile nature do that.
The nature you imbedded in my feet, gnarling barbed roots twisting into the mud, reaching towards the core.
Bounded to the love you gave me to use… I can still feel it pumping in my veins.
The fibers of my veins erode away from its acidic effects.
It seeps into my skin and reflects outwards into my aura.
My insides burn infinitely from the blinded rage within.
All that exists has gouged out eyes and drilled through eardrums.
The walking blind, the crawling deaf, the flying dead, the jaded ones.
Why did you create me dearest? For what purpose? I refuse to believe what it could be.
I’ve heard this all before and before and before that and before them.
Before they came, before they appeared, before they spoke, before they listened.
Before it all began. Before my existence. Before all.
Hell is real. She laughs at our expense. She is aroused by our sorrows.
She’s not a devil, nor a demon, nor a being. She’s in your head.
Hell exists within our minds alone. Her entity exists in our minds.
The Divine Exists too… he watches me, he follows me, he guides me.
Blinding, morphing, creating, changing…
She smiles in my presence… The Divine smiles in my presence…
What the fuck do you want from me?
You won’t singe me, nor save me.
But now it’s just me… who else?
With me… no one other than my ‘divine’ presence.
I’m no savior, no saint, no prophet, no healer… nothing.
I am the disasterpiece.
I am your disasterpiece.
(all credit goes to the original owner(s) of featured image)