If I was a God, I would be the least of them all. Like the stub of a branch – the lowest on the tree. The one people step on when they climb. And I would wear down every time I was used for others ascent. But I am no God. The Gods know not my name. I am hidden behind walls that cannot come down. Oblivions to the world – and the world equally oblivious to me. In my cell I draw pictures of death. Forcing it to manifest. Futility is the name of my efforts. I keep drowning in cold water as the rain retunes again and again. I long for the end, but the God of death knows not my name. My nails scar my cheeks, and leave white marks on the walls as I turn aggression outward. I would kill just to feel something other than cold steel and my own flesh under my nails. Pictures appear on the walls every time I open my eyes. Faces of death stare at me. The smell of burning flesh has long ago saturated my clothes. And as I once again stare through the gate in to the abyss, longing for the key to my final escape..
the walls shatter. And reveal bright sand – almost white. Above me is dense blackness, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, only broken by the earth hovering above me. I am the hope of humanity, I am the outcast. And as the void sucks the air out of my lungs, the picture of you appears in my mind. I am the leech on your shoulder sucking you dry. I am the night, raping your soul again and again.
Kill what I hold dear. I nourish what I hate. My fingernails are black with dirt – I have poisoned the earth. I have corrupted humanity – of which I was once a pert. Now, I am death. Not of vengeance – no misdeed was conducted. Not of malice – I wish no harm. But for suffering, oh yes. Not yours. Not the suffering of anyone – that matters. But my own. A black heart finally stops beating.
I was no God. I was no man. I was invisible, blind. No one knew I lived. No one knew I died. But in my mind, I ended the world