Untitled
01.19.02
Jessica J. Lee
jei did it
I hate Him. HATE HIM. Hate Him because everything is ALL HIS FAULT. He tries to take things away from me. But they're MINE. Mine. So I take His things first and make them BLEED and make Him cry and cry and CRY, tears of BLOOD running down ruined flesh. Torn flesh. Cold, ripped, bruised flesh. All his little puppets, cracked and broken, fallen at absurd angles. Glassy eyes staring sightless up at uncaring stars, pleading, begging, for Him to come for them. For Him to deliver them. For Him to welcome them home. But He ignores them, even though he cries at their passing, because THEY HAVE NO MORE USE FOR HIM. He doesn't NEED them anymore, doesn't WANT them anymore. He can let them go, FORGOTTEN. Forsaken. He doesn't need them anymore.
The Guilty One begs for silence. Something to quiet the voices in his head, screaming at him, laughing at him, confusing themselves with his own. He yearns for the solitude that GOD can not give him. He kills for it, he fucks for it, he injects quiet up his arm through a needle when he can't find it anywhere else.
I HATE silence. It's in the silence that I find HIM, waiting for me, calling for me. Trying to "bring me home". WHY WON'T HE LEAVE ME ALONE? He waits in the empty white that silence brings, ever watchful for the moment when I'll slip up, when I'll BREAK the constant sound, so He can take me, RAPE me, smother me. So He can try to STOP ME from doing the things that make Him CRY.
Let there be NOISE.
Look at me, God! LOOK AT ME. I'm the one who's ripping Your canvas, Your precious paintings of life. Don't ignore me. Don't IGNORE me. I'M the one who holds the knife, who holds the power. They pray to You. They BLEED for me. So which of us is the stronger? You have their love, I have their fear, and when they act as if they can't see me, I DON'T GO AWAY. When they BEG for you to deliver them, I'M the one who ends their pain. I'M the one who eases the AGONY of life. So don't you DARE ignore me. Don't you dare ignore me.
For I WILL TAKE THE THINGS YOU LOVE.
STEEL so cold and blood so HOT. Searing me. BURNING my tongue. Scarred fingers wrapped around thick hair, pulling, PULLING the head back, its mouth open, neck STRETCHED. Screaming, sobbing, salt water leaking from wide eyes holding FEAR inside. Please, oh please, oh please, don't do this. Please don't do this. Please… See, they pray to me, too. God, help me! Sharp edge across soft skin, a LINE drawn in CRIMSON, liquid red welling up and SPILLING over. Onto my hand. MY hand. GOD never helps ANYONE, little girl. He watches, and He cries.
I CUT myself because it makes Him hurt. He LOVED Jei. He wants me to bring him back. But I KILLED him, a long time ago, when GOD made the WORLD go bad. He FORGETS the things he loves until they DIE, and then He can let them go because He DOESN'T need them anymore. He ONLY wants what He DOESN'T have. And I am not His now.
BURN THE WORLD TO CINDERS. Swallow life in HATE. Make Him CRY because He's STUPID and can't STOP ME ANYMORE. Write Him a MESSAGE in blood and in FIRE, throw all of His TOYS and laugh when they SHATTER. Be LOVED and FORGOTTEN or HATED but SEEN. He hasn't the POWER to KEEP what He made. Take it from Him. Hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt, DROWN creation in His tears. God only watches when you touch him with PAIN.
And I hate Him. HATE HIM. Hate Him because everything is ALL HIS FAULT.
He won't forget me anymore.