Five minutes, any day. Spent writing—something anything not for anyone anything no edits no outlines no plans no correction, this is where it goes.enjoy.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Mess ed.u p

Messed up.  Broken.  Crying.  Burning.  Aching, dying, bleeding, lying.
It’s a picture.  Do you see it?
It’s you.
You’re hurting yourself.  You feel like you don’t have a choice.  You’re trapped, stuck.  Others exist, but not really—you’re completely alone.  By choice—both theirs, and your own.  You’re erecting glass walls between you and the world:  they can see in, but they’re separated from you as you glue every broken, cutting shard together, creating a barrier, both against your will and in accordance to it.
If I was still there—
If I was still there I wouldn’t be here.
I don’t know if people know this, but I was suicidal a few years ago.  To me, no one cared.  To me, it was obvious.
But I was terrified of killing myself, for fear that God would not accept me.  I had done so much evil, and He hated me for it, and there was no way that I could refrain from wallowing in the mire that was myself without simply ending it, casting myself on His mercy, and praying He would understand my reasoning behind taking my own life.
But Mercy is what He does.  Love is who He is.
Hate me?
Hate you?

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