Imagine seeing a church preach a gospel with no cross. They should live a deliberate life.
People lose faith. It is indestructible, do not forget it, do not stray.
My brain lies to me. It's hard to even laugh. I can't. I can't smile and I can't laugh and I can't be around people and I can't be with anyone. This hurts. This hurts me.
These are things I do not say, but this has killed me. Everything hurts, it's overcast and raining today. I have no one but a phone and a voice with terrorizing confusion in the background, she is chaos, I can't do this much longer. I am unbelievably sad. I live in some leafy rain garden. You live in an evil place where city-zombies choose to believe in no God and blaspheme and cuss at their own doing, at least, for me, tell them the truth.
You know he’s under the ground. You know this. He's in a casket. I want to beat on it until my hands are bloody, I want to keep hitting it until my hands turn into mangled stumps of gore and bone. I want to chew through it like some monster, gnashing my teeth, rabid foam and red streams down my chin, pry it open and crawl in there, I want to lay there with my brother and be dead too. The world is dead. Ok? It's dead. I've written this before. I've written this so many times, over and over and over.
