I’m done asking what’s wrong with me.
Or why is this happening.
I’m exasperated by your lack of responses.
Clearly you don’t care enough to answer me.
Well not with spoken words, shall we play Pictionary?
Are you even listening?
I repent everything.
Stop this weak body’s suffering.
Punishment has been given.
And is still being received.
You think you can turn down the pain just a smidgen, so I can breathe?
Honestly was it me?
Like me solely?
Did I hurt you?
Were they my nails, they hammered through you?
Or were they my measurements for the cross you were nailed to?
Is that why I am experiencing this type of agony, no matter what I do?
You gonna torture me, then tell me it wasn’t you?
Attend my funeral like you didn’t just hit my end button, because you wanted to.
I mean, you only created us to entertain you.
So what happens when we go off of script and turn around and blame you?
Do you untangle my strings, attached to you?
What about when we realize we have only ever been controlled by you?
Are you gonna throw a tantrum and proceed torturing my body like you do?
Not maliciously, but Spiritually.
Your physical torment serves as a reminder, to be grateful for when I’m pain-free.
A refiner’s fire, to burn away the ego and increase spiritual peace.
Pain is temporary.
Faith is everlasting.
Last question, why me?
Sierra Mazzucca's Poetry site 
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