As I lay in the waste of his wreckage, I wonder:
"Where are you my faceless God when I need you?"
You son's sacrifice, his hands are nailed just when I need them. I reach forward, and come back down empty handed.
Years pass but I am still constricted to this room, this sacrilegous temple where demons are at play. The martyr at bay, waiting for the next prey. All the while I pray for it all to just go away. And I lay in the waste of his wreckage. I am a wreck, a dirty mess, as I wonder:
"Where are you my faceless God?"
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