ordinary

They worship the light then curse the shadows it casts. They love the filth then hate the rats it beckons. They are tribes and they are nations. They are faiths and reasons and all the alibis written to save a name. They live as if they were the reflection and not the face that is captured. They live as if they were innocent, explaining away every atrocity as if words had the power to erase actions. As if embracing amnesia made angels of them all.

I am no better. The same crimes without the apologia. The same evils without the religion to make it right. Even my tries at kindness do not come without a bleeding. Even my best intentions have beat downs attached. There is no fit, there is no comfort. There is only means, never meanings. There is only talk, never a common tongue. The hard earth and the empty sky. Crowds and crowns, covens and choirs. There is little but the pretending left.

So there are stairs and there are doorways. Entrances and exits, where little but walls abide. The collisions and the pretense, the lying and the prayers. The most fertile soil smothered in pavement, the brightest minds bent spent on death and flagellation. Bless the banquet and abandon all labor. Bless the children then leave them to scrape and starve. Blame every victim while you gorge upon their guts and blood. Do not ask again for my favor. Do not ever meet my gaze. All that I have left is mercy, and fury, and tears.