His Sadness

Maybe we’re all pieces of God’s personality.
Some of us represent his happiness.
Some represent his frustrations.
Others still, are his wonder, his fear, his joy.

I am his sadness, I think.

I am his woe and depression. I am his lament and sorrow. I am him when he looks at brokenness in the mirror and doesn’t accept it, when he looks at it out the window too. I am him when when he’s kicking and screaming and foaming at the mouth in the face of all this sin and separation. I am him when he’s tied to a bed in a mental hospital, thrashing and wishing for something, anything else.

I am his sadness.

I’m sure of it.

Dare me?

I want to do it.
Do you dare me?
I’ve put myself there.
In good position.
I’ve stared down the barrel so to speak.
I’ve cracked it open.
I’ve fit the noose.
I’m no longer speaking In metaphors.

I drank too much again.
Finished the bottle.
There was no secret fortune at the bottom.
Guess that’s only in cookies.

It’s spinning mania. It’s thick with red wine and cheap beer. I’m quoting myself again. Narcissism.

Thinking too much of myself. I’ve heard selfish a few too many times. Be careful what you say to someone on the edge. Call them selfish again. See what happens.

Step back into oblivion. Step back in time. One two step around the issue. Keep your head down. Don’t make eye contact.

There are two knives in my room. One was made in Germany. The other is my grandfather’s who was German.

I hold the first to my arm. “sometimes i wish I could slash my wrists and end this bull shit put the magnum to my head and threaten to push it until the beds completely red.”

Biggie knew.
Do you?

The other says, “Serve God” on the handle.
Maybe I should give the advice a try. Maybe I already have.

I can’t do it with this one. I can’t dishonor my grandfather like that. Fuck honor. I can’t do it with this knife cause I love my grandpa. No need to bring hot buttons like honor into it.

Life is beautiful and is meant to be wrestled with. I’ve come to learn there’s so much beauty in pain. Can’t you see it?

I put down both knives, thinking of my mother’s eyes.

It’s those eyes the ones you can’t forget. It’s the walls speaking with regret. You want to die? Now’s not the time.

Porch lights on and it’s aglow saying things you’ll never know. It’s thick and swirls round your mind.

That songs about a girl who followed through. I should know. I wrote it.

Contemplating is not the same as pulling the trigger. But make sure you leave the safety on.

Sealed in the ground

The hardest things to say are the most important.
(Deep breath)
I am so tired.
Every day seems like a losing battle and I’m some soldier who’s been unwillingly drafted into a war that I didn’t start, but have been told I add fire to daily.
I find myself to be loyal, but I don’t get loyalty returned to me.
Instead, I get this sadness that everyone tells me to wear like a coat, so I do.
Trudging in a foreign field with a winter coat in the summer time.
I wonder a lot of things.
Sometimes I wonder if I wonder too much;
If that sense is what’s bringing me down.
Will I ever have someone to call my own?
Will I ever have a family to read to when they’re scared of rain pounding sideways onto the windows?
Will my life end by my own hand?
I know it almost did tonight.
Hell, tonight’s not over yet.
I want to be weightless for a few reasons:
1. I want to float on by without feeling or consequence
2. I want to live where we don’t worry over things like our weight
I’m racking my brain to find things to be grateful for these days.
It’s not coming as quickly as other times in my life.
I experimented with causing myself pain today.
It wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.
I’m listening to worship songs as I write this and it feels ironic.
Ironic faith.
Ashamed I hear my mocking voice…
I’m ashamed of being ashamed.
I’m tired of being tired.
I hope you can hear me because I need you to speak to me.
And I’m not talking about you Thundering Speechlessness.
I’m talking to my (hopefully existent) lovely.
In the meantime, I’m lonely while I wait for you.
Perhaps, I have nothing to be waiting for.
I guess by now I’m so skeptical, it wouldn’t come as a surprise.
When you get here, will you hold me?