Passion of the SKeptic

Momentary, a lapse, a sort of calm, a sort of, well, a moment where everything feels very much like it makes sense until insanity comes back with an unwelcome guest festering in my mind And I just continuously have to deal with the cycle that I was sentenced to like a prisoner with no awareness made of his charges or crime And I'm not claiming to be a saint, nor am I claiming to be perfect. I'm just saying that this seems like a kind of hell that I would never sentence any mortal to In or outside of the flesh Isolation is really a cancerous thing. Ironically, I was born in July and I am a cancer But I have never killed anyone, at least to my knowledge, and if I have, spare me the weight of the guilt that comes with being a murderer because I never wanted that to be who I was and I always try to protect the ones I cared about Any kind of actions that would lead to that sort of conduct I'm sitting here in this place very much alone, feeling like I'm only cared for when there's a purpose to what can be gained from my essence and being that is able to somehow benefit the others around me So I'm here, taking a drag off a cigarette I'm not sure if messages will be read or if they will linger in time like a limbo To say the least Currently as I exist as a man, beyond any shadow of doubt, I am real And this is life on earth, prior to any kind of death, spiritually or physically I've pled with the creator. I've pled with him I've asked him to help me be okay Maybe that's a problem Maybe the cigarettes just aren't hitting me And I feel like I should probably give up Hang out the stove in my home of poverty and build on pain and bones in a city where lackluster existence is a thing And I light the stove, I turn the dial over, like a new minute on the clock I suppose the hope I'm hanging to is but an illusion Since time is really irrelevant to the human psyche And they say time is of the essence, whether times just a way we measure things than it actually exists And the essence doesn't actually exist and it's all a void or a fever dream that we continue to live in And I too think I have the mind of Christ Or so I was told once in a book written thousands of years ago by multiple men Who I would hope were divinely inspired Or maybe in an era that we're in, I wanted for miracles to occur But these days it feels like a bad letdown Think of an album that you will love And it doesn't come out It more or less festers And they build a hype around it And then the day of it is released The results are very underwhelming And you feel like you just waited all that time for something that could never give you what you expected Or would have ever hoped for So the hype dies Much like a candle blowing in the wind And you forget all about it until the next time When they try to reprogram you to believe that the artist creating the next album Will be hopefully living up to what you always needed from them But they already lost their careers Either to ego or to a lack of belief in anything So they got strung out and shipped something to the executives And that's when you realize The industry is just a money making machine And passion dies when the dollar sign becomes more important than the reason for being there in the first place So I take a breath And I sit down And I sit and I ponder everything And here I am Looking into nothing Cause I'm going to set my phone down And continue this deep, pointless talk Trying to put on a facade of my realism Like I'm asked to read a pointless effort Some philosopher must have made that a thing to coin So another perspective and angle can be given towards this thing we don't understand called life What a very concerning and confusing state of consciousness we're in And I don't know if I'm able to balance the efforts here and me More so than my own personal healing and growth Than anything else I'll call this a diary entry I don't know if I'm speaking in rhythm But what is rhythm It's just a relative thing Beauty Music Whatever it is The eye of the beholder And most of us are just blinded by the poison in the air To really know if we're seeing what's really there I never really thought about Jesus Christ I never really thought about God And I asked myself about this man who did everything right and still wasn't enough for them Would I have wanted to know him Would I have wanted to be the one And I tried to nail those hands and feet Honestly Probably because that's what everybody that was supposed to be his loved ones did His friends murdered him I murdered him Without reason Unbelievable And I'm trying to ask him if he'll forgive me for that Because knowing who I know as Jesus now He's just a very good man And a very great God Because time does not promise us anything other than these seconds Thankfully, somehow, he lives in my heart I definitely did not lose every bit of energy I could have lost Due to the coldness of almost scorching winter Known as 2022, 2023 Whatever year it is But life is not always easy In fact, it's cold It's often dark and desolate And I guess my bones They don't feel like the fire shut up in them anymore I did not ask myself what the prophets ever did in a season of silence My season of rebellion has often been met with silence One in four years But I still wonder about the cross The old hill And the ruggedness of it I wonder how it felt To die willingly Knowing it was going to be the worst experience a human could ever face And even the gods can cry, right Well, that one sure did Tears of blood as he awaited What he would have to behold A cup of wrath poured out And that's not fair If he is God We did him wrong And if he wasn't, we kind of still did him wrong If Jesus was mad man, after all Then what does that say about human beings and how they treat the mentally ill We're shitty God help us all Our hearts are dark and futile Fuck this place