Dear God

Dear God,

A personal letter was written in my head, sitting in the driver’s seat of my car.

Thinking about how shit around me and the endless nonsense and how it all got this far.

I’m starting to remember why, throughout the years of external stressors, I stopped talking to you.

I figured it was better to air out frustrations and tell the universe why we shouldn’t go down these dark...

Paths that everyone else in the world sees, unless you are affiliated with the devils, who are the hungry few.

For years thinking that as long as we followed the paths, we would know our own truths.

Perverted powers rule the states, C.R.E.A.M. , the iron sights now focused on us as marks.

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I’m tired of asking for peace and tranquility; I need for you to fill me with your vengeful anger.

There is no room for mistakes, can’t afford supplies, I need to try and make artistic bangers.

I’m beginning to realize that it may be all a scam, recruited to be one of your loyal soldiers.

I have to find every single fucking emotion, everything will be cool, is what I keep telling her.

It takes our mental fortitude and our sheer willpower to not end up on the six o’clock news.

Refusing to make peace at the fact that I can’t promise a future for my children when they’re older.

But I’m figuring out that I like the thought of sitting back and watching the whole world burn.

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At least it could be some bullshit symbolism that we will eventually forget, so we can start over.

Because so far the good times are lasting shorter and shorter, before long, no more four-leaf clovers.

Why have you ignored our pleas to remove the evils from our lives?

Is it because it is getting harder to tell the difference between people who want a global takeover?

We are a short amount of time away from keeping warm by fire from burning church pews.

They preach the false word and condemn the innocent, meanwhile watching us with digital spies.

Pick a side on a team that doesn’t give a shit about us, and hate us who chose a peaceful roamer.

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For forty-three years, at the time of this recording, I’ve been forced to know your heaven and hell.

Contradictions and translations of translations make it hard not ask the questions we were told not to tell.

I still want to believe, because deep down I still think there is an answer.

As to why, when I ask for peace, all I see is a new war for oil, never really was a hard sell.

I continue to see the videos of those twisting your alleged words, trying to reach today’s highest views.

I know every day our Mother Earth considers our modern existence as a spreading cancer.

Wouldn’t it be really weird if we got this all wrong and down was supposed to be up and it was actually you who fell?

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I don’t know, maybe I’m just fed up with waiting for something or someone to finally answer me.

Or realize that I can control the synthetic simulation and completely wake up from this manufactured dream.

Or maybe it is because that I’m selfish and I think I deserve to have some sort of insider trading knowledge.

Once again caught between my own versions of how I see the world, wishing I could see positivity and good deeds.

But I’m still sitting in my car with no music, and my eyes are closed, wondering if we're destined to perish from our actions so crude.

I feel like I’m getting ready to defend my PhD dissertation while everyone around me still hasn’t applied to community college.

Are these words tracking with you or do I have to cut deeper into an untreated wound so I can continue to bleed?

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Dear God,

I’m still here, back at the front drivers seat, sitting at the same spot we were one month later.

All the religious trauma at the back of my brain nagging at me that I’m sort of traitor.

But I’m not some blind follower, devotee, the rules of the game are I’m supposed to ask questions.

That is the path of being like you isn’t it? I’m supposed to unravel the truths by my creator?

Is that why this journey hurts so damn bad, facts of life; and not views diluted by moods.

Or is this the comedic tragedy that is our existence and everything else are just mere suggestions?

I’m beginning to realize the pain of knowing certain truths, it feels like a bottomless crater.

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I’ll start taking breath after breath each one deeper than the other.

We will just go round in circles, debating, if we keep going after one another.

I’m wondering if this is where I realize I’m supposed to be your St. Michael and fight on your behalf.

Sometimes I think we need another civil war, not one with guns, but a discourse with brother vs brother.

Perhaps the latter but I’ll keep trying to keep my words from getting violent until my face turns blue.

If this is truly a simulation then I need to figure out the cheat codes, learn the ways of those who know the secret craft.

You’ll hear from me again more likely sooner than later, like I always do, these intrusive thoughts I’d wish you’d smother.

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Respectfully Sent,

Me.