this cross ain't worth much; shelby

I no longer believe in the second birth of body, soul, or mind.

False hope such as this is just another form of suicide, the only difference being that those who fade with their faith still in tact are said to be martyrs— true followers of the lost cause were always buried in graves as ornate as the verses they lived by.

I preferred a simpler headstone, one made of glass. There would be no inscription, no name to remember or dates to forget. Human error is inevitable when there is no factuality to keep in check. Instead, my veins are filled with words of fiction. These tunes and tales are much better company than a reality left to float away on the breeze of a wanderlust I cannot tame. I am tied to no sky here, only this own body— I cannot believe in a god who could proclaim to recreate something so unique.

I’d write my own scriptures and shout commandments from the highest mountaintop regardless of whether or not I had followers down below to listen.

(1)There is nothing more than what can be seen. (2)The world that lays in ruins due to our own hands is all that exists. (3)Do not compromise its destruction due to belief in some realm beyond. (4)When fire rains down from the sky do not call it an angry god or heaven’s fury. (5)Extinguish the thought before it leaves your mind and burns your tongue. (6)And you wonder why the great cities now lay covered in ashes? (7)If you pray, do not pray for the sake of others, or for the sake of image or standing. (8)We are all wading through the depths of the same sea, and a stranded soul in the ocean only has space aboard his raft to tend to his own concerns. (9)Do not be pulled under by the current of another’s sorrows. (10)If others say they are worried for you, chastise them. (11)For they are not voicing concern for you but concern that you are weak. (12)Weakness is the greatest sin a human can commit— do not fall prey to any voice that believes this is acceptable. (13)If a story strikes you as that which has a deeper truth, take it as such— the world is too focused on definites to realize that none exist.

Religion is a word sweet on my tongue, mimicking the action of sucking on a piece of hard candy for far too long, sugar coating the back of the throat and making teeth ache. But how sweet it was— so decadent it became impossible to even think of removing its presence. Besides, in such a temporal world, why not cling to that which simply feels good?

Cha Leviane had been every form of religion I had ever needed; she had been the god I desired but did not deserve. Her promises were definite truths did not need validation of factual foundation in order to gain my full faith and confidence. The words that fell from her tongue had been sweet fire, but my god— had I loved the warmth they emitted. I had pretended that I did not have scars from the third degree burns, those that were cause of dependence and those that were simply self-inflicted.

When her body cracked and her bones splintered, I remembered why I had never prayed to any god I could not see.

See, religion would have said that the death had not been waiting for her; that her body could still and her mind could numb and she would still be existent somewhere. But if Cha Leviane still existed, somewhere— anywhere, I would not stay awake for nights on end watching the sky and seeing her eyes in every star. If she were still alive, my mother would consider herself lucky to at least have one daughter left. If I had not buried Cha Leviane, I would not have torn the hammock down and pulled the splintered wood from my own skin and kissed the scars until my lips were bloody.

If Cha Leviane were alive, I believe I would be the best goddamn follower any religion had every seen.

But eternity is desperation— a grasping attempt to cling to that which we are all destined to believe. No, I believe that all things end and it gives me the reassurance that one day some poor soul will have to bury me too. Someone else will have to take this burden off of my shoulders and hold it high above their heads like the first note of a battle cry.

When I am done fighting this war, perhaps I will find faith in something once again.

But until then, I will continue to believe that faith in eternity is simply another way of saying that I am afraid of this inevitable end of all things.