God Tell Me

God I feel timidly still, everyday got pain to kill. Count my sins, and anxiety, add them up for the best of me. Tell me what there is to feel? All I know is how pain is real.

And who am I? Who are we?

Man and woman, society.

Are we anymore special than the trees? 

That you have sprouted since root and leaves. Likewise us, babies and kids. 

Tell me what’s the difference?

Is complex thought what makes us big?

Existential thoughts, existential fears,

Tell me why you brought us here?

Tell me why I’m here.

Because every now, and again, it starts to feel like we play pretend. What’s the point of a friend, if it all soon comes to an end. And why make happiness? So that we all may live in ignorance and bliss. Dwell on memories like our first kiss, our first kids, or our first wish. And hope is such a cruel thing, watch us puppets play on your string. Hoping for anything, and everything, hoping for something. So why mask the pain and why take it away? All these feelings just feel in vain. The problem is what is the purpose, is it just to find something that’s worth it? Or is it all just a silly game, a simulation, or in our brains? What’s the purpose we have to live? Why have religions if kept hid? And then spread by the same beings, all it does is invoke questioning? And what makes me so unique? Some people’s lives are just so bleak, short and tragic or long and frail. Is this all that life is meant to entail? I don’t wish to be spoken to, or bestowed, no special signs, or laminated proof. I just want a defining purpose. I just want a truth. As well as for all else lost, to be given such too. Because we’re all just in the same bus, equally created. So God please, tell me why you made us ?

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