theverybadman

Im not sure that i commit to sect behind a certian deity but if there is an omnipitant being, an alpha and omaga, he scares the hell out of me
constantly i find myself argueing my life decicions, scolding myself for my secular practices all in the hopes to balance out some sort of karma,
this is a terrifieing prosses, because if a deity is lingering then its standards surpass anything i hope to achieve. The mere thought of critisism and cruelty that can be deliviered by one person to another may only be the glimps
of the refinity some alpha and omega can exspect.

The only thing to put me to rest is the idea that i dont understand the direction of perfection. perhaps a godthing has the capability to ignore faults that linger in my own mind.
perhaps even if im not relegious, the idea of one good being with a reasonable succission into afterlife is something best left wondered about, instead of proven or dissproven

oh well, take nothing seriously. my words are not to be noticed in such a mannor

I feel like im throwing my heroes away slowly. each day passes and the sun burns the hole in my cloudy mind a little wider. pain crawls up my spine only to settle numbly in the heart and another dream or idol dies, for who could stand as an alter to man when mankind sits in the fire.

what burning ant prays to the child with the magnifying glass.

for all we know all of them may pray, sin, repent or die unfeelingly.

for all we know the last thought of the deer in the headlights was a short uttered prayer.

but i have nothing against anyones god merely an astonishing lack of understanding the concept of this great beings ability to hear every tiny, insignificant ants cry for help.

i know ive felt the burn of the hero and his sun, and i refuse to beg for mercy. god shall not see this side of me.
ill just content with dying slowly in my own puddle of dignity.

the pen has cursed me and the pencil is my pain. i have no strength left for spellcheck and no time left for commas. the pen freed me when the world pushed me down but the words bled ignorance doubt and self worth. the writings buried me beneath a code of conduct written by the elitist of the literary world. A portal to ones heart used to come in pages yet now these words are waisted on meek and a starbucks nightstand.

words are my curse though because the words never stop even when the pen has bled to death. the words flood me in a world that doesn't want to hear it and now the words are all thats left