I'm mad at God
I've never been mad at him before
Always understanding and patient
I never questioned the purpose of the pain

The purpose of pain
I'm sure there is one
but I am tired
It is the same thing and I find myself trapped in a cycle of insanity
What is the purpose? What is the lesson? What am I missing?

I'm mad at God
Maybe mad is the wrong word
Frustrated. Hurt. Exhausted. Angry.
But not mad.
Its not so much a place of casting blame
but rather "what do you want from me!?"

How much longer will I have to endure?
How much longer will I have to cry out?
When will I see an answer?
You don't play mind games
and yet I am currently unconvinced of this

Unconvinced I have received any sort of healing
only led to believe so
"I don't know" has been a phrase I've said the most

So yes perhaps I am mad at God.
I don't know what else to feel when one is falling apart, even if they are falling into place.
The pain is still the same.

I lost my mind ,
Or so it seems.
Doused in fear
Of uncertainty.
The mind is small
Yet we think so big.
And here I lay
In the grave I dig.
As one small nudge
And I’m ready to blow.
Losing myself ,

Now out of control.

when I was angry, I was unstoppable
with fire in my veins I felt like I could move mountains if I just believed it hard enough
I was so capable
and so delicate
I was so scared
and so strong
when I was mad, I was motivated
with pain came beautiful triumphs
I was so ashamed
and so proud
I was so embarrassed
and so confident
when I am not angry anymore, I am incapable
without fire in my soul, I don’t believe I can get up out of bed
I am so happy
and so sad
I am so comfortable
and so confused

Building up my anger,
      brick by brick.
Laying a wicked heart upon
the cement of hurt I feel;
And if I were a street— everyone would
now be correct to walk all over me,
      brick by brick.

A bridge, to gap two parties as the
middle ground to all their arguments
—an abandoned apartment, filled with
all the tenants, of memories well lived,
      brick by brick.

A madhouse, for all of the creativity;
to out there for the world to even understand
So brick by brick, they lay
Day by day, I try not to build a
wall around my constructed smile,
      brick by brick.

When the air shudders
and the air is thick with
onyx pressure, dunes of war,
muffled gusts and stubborn iron --

A tree sighs barren,
unable to support their own leaves.
A giant of reverence,
testament to love,
time's lust and an intimate rot long gone.

The bucking of future's specter,
the manic hoarse thunder at silent soil
and patience lost to rain's unbent ear.

They who died with a full belly,
remorse only for wind's kiss and Earth's embrace,
laying with demons,
open door, dialogue honey, a bookcase full, sore legs.

opulent hearts

-- Heaven's ******* and Hell's divine,
the Hummingbird of West Berlin,
the mortal's roach and the stars' first undead

with taut bones and ragged flesh,
amongst carnival lights
and eldest fire's pride,

returns to the World again.

i hope there's a place for us
in the end.
unwanted, unpleasant,
they feel so uneasy when we bring it up,
the horrors of death.
they want to forget,
they want to be safe in their bubbles
of blissful oblivion.
right.
should we say we're sorry
for being too loud,
too angry, too stubborn,
not willing to die without a struggle?
perhaps we're just making it all up.
well,
although it was mostly pretend,
we really appreciate
your concern.
thanks for nothing.
i hope there's a place for you, too,
in the end.