oh, God, the fringes of my eyes are shrouded
in vampiric dark, looming over me,
as if threatening to assail my very soul,
to ravage my frail body in a leeching enfilade.
oh, God, my body is so cold,
and my hearth doth threaten to warm me no more.
innumerable pikes stab my ribs in concerted fashion,
seemingly striving to resemble a ruthless, besieging army.
feverishly, strewn around in my bed,
I gaze upon my white hands, in my sleepless nights.
oh, God, my only capitalization,
I trust Thy decision, for nothing You'd have deemed unworthy
would've roamed Thy realm.
nevertheless, I reserve myself the right to appeal, the right to question,
I honor Thy creation by splitting its duramater open, by gazing deep in its sinews,
nothing to be disavowed,
so as to catch up with the tremendous majesty, the unbereable, albeit eyebag-having, light
that I am convinced You actually are.
I am vibration and light myself, how could an endless creator
be any less?
oh, God, I am so cold, I shiver,
are You pulling a Job on me?
is there an ultimate monistic reasoning
behind the unspent tears hoarding up at my eyelids?
surely there must be an explanation somewhere
in dusty, old byzantine-era tomes
that I have not read, but
which some of Your believers draw upon me as if knives.
no, they do not come any close to me, nor do they succeed
in stabbing me, ei non me tangunt. but their arrays of misericordes,
of stilletos, navajas and roundels have been drawn upon me regardless,
and the echoes of the act are deafening.
why are they so intent on mercy killing me
if we profess the same, one You?
oh, God, I am so cold.
apocope to my years of teenhood,
22 septembrie 2024
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