The Hoplite

nine

The babies are crying and Jesus is sad for me, and I miss my mother so much it hurts in my stomach

14/03/2024

Jesus might truly be crying for me this time. He is weeping and I can hear Him breaking down under. The shrieks are deafening. (The silence of The End, like hunger, follows.)

I was just a baby. It is so empty now that He is no longer here. The kind of emptiness you feel after taking all the rotten food out of the fridge, or the kind you feel after finishing a bottle of beer. It's real and ever-consuming. I begin to weep, myself, as if to cut off the silence.

My cries aren't nearly as good as His, but they shall suffice. I am His, after all, I am of Him. Right?bHe loves me even when I am drunk, high or sick(I'm always one of those, pick whatever one you like). Tell me it's true, even if you really aren't all that sure, I need to hear it, please. Hymns slice trough the air and I am left alone, with deflated lungs, my diaphragm on the floor, these guts spilling out and all Love abandoning me, once again. 

And I am no more than a wet paper towel left without a purpose, after seemingly completing it's destiny. Has it completed it's destiny? Is this really it for me, God?

I was so full of it(The Love) before all of this happened to happen. So full I spilled over, again and again, and again, until I ran out. Now, I am just hands, ones riddled with shakes and nicotine stains. A supernova waiting to split open and explode into nothingness. Withdrawal and acid reflux. Or maybe I am still only a small child crying for my mother not to go. Which one is it, though?

Do you really want to know the answer? But, really?

And so it comes, never to end. I was going to have it. I nearly had it. Goddamn me with these shakes and uncertainties...