They're laughing, so unbothered, so carefree,
a camera snapping candid shots,
as I stand awkwardly to the side,
smiling undaintily.
Can I become them? God, I wish so.
So beautifully unscarred,
so craftedly animated,
so unflinchingly happy.
Life has been cruel to me,
and just me, not them.
Green tendrils lock my heart in a fist,
and I imagine what it would be like to be them.
This pain in my head never goes away,
tell me why, God, aren't you supposed to be unbiased,
uncruel, and generous?
Why would you do this to an innocent somebody?
Should I just die, kill myself, because you decided
to make me like this and give me this pain?
Do you truly not care? Do you truly not feel remorse?
Do you not wish to undo the damage you've done?
Was I meant to endure this, then,
to carry a pain I never consented to,
while you look on, unmoved,
calling it design?
I cannot forgive you, even if you take this pain away,
I cannot bring myself to believe you exist, or if you do,
you're good. Because you can't be. You can't give someone
hundred lifetimes' worth of pain and expect them to worship you still.
It's just me in here, and if I heal, it will have nothing,
absolutely nothing to do with you. If they say, "It's all because of God's will",
I will tell them the truth of you; I will tell them, that the one you trust with your life
is nothing but an untrue myth.