Say, what’s this knife doing in my hand?

Oh look, it’s covered in blood.

Hey, what are you doing over there?

You don’t look so good.

Like someone stabbed you

Over and over again

For years.

~~~

I wish I had it in me

To wish for death.

I wish blood would appease

This malevolent god

Of broken dreams.

Why can’t I be someone else?

Or even myself

Only ten years later?

What have I become?

What have I done?

When I am finally complete

Will there be anyone left

To forgive me?

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8 Comments

      1. Like a parent or a coder…

        …sits the Almighty, viewing creation, loving it, grieving that the freewill zone, tragically, intrinsically, supports the possibility of the undesirable.

        >Will there be anyone left
        >To forgive me?

        Ah, the debugger was run those years ago by the carpenter. Apply the patch, and ponder its significance.

        1. Re: Like a parent or a coder…

          I’m sorry, but that was just wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Christianity being described in programming terms before. That was just… very, very cool.

      2. you know where i am and how to get ahold of me if i can help in anyway,

  1. Steve: “Fascinatingly morose.”

    Becka: “Fascinating period.”

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