Jesus In Gethsemane

Jesus, I wonder, can you feel the ground?
Curling down on your spine
Alone with your thoughts, silence is the sound

Jesus, are you scared?
Can your blood curdle with fear?
Do you see what's up ahead? 40 days you have not fared.

Did Jesus in Gethsemane feel valiant or failed?
Praying to who listened, hands clasped and shaking
Knowing now just what the world entailed

Jesus, I wonder, can you feel the sin?
Bestowed upon you through only the obedience taught
Jesus, I wonder, did you want any kin?

Jesus, is it heavy?
A weight digging into your shoulders
Jesus, are you saddened at what God chose to levy?

The cup does not pass to anyone else, drink
For what good is perfection, sinlessness
Without temptation? Without perseverance? Indelible ink.

But it still burns and hurts, does it not?
A fiery blade piercing into your chest
The world shows you to be tested, can your faith be wrought?

Jesus, I wonder, whose flesh are you?
Bone of whose bone, flesh of whose flesh?
Do you grieve your own life? Do you seek what is true?

Pleading to Him, that if there be another way...
Not out of cowardice, you kept your courage while timorous
A selfless ask, no demand of any kind, is what you pray

For what good would it be to carry the depraved
When you are not challenged? When you are not afraid?
A sacrifice made, Lamb of God, collect the saved

Jesus, do you miss your friends?

You are just, you are kind, but Jesus, I wonder
Did you cry on that cross? Could you smell the wood?
An earthly affliction you must have felt, heart torn asunder

At the thought of your father, your mother.

i pray, dear god, please don't make me do this again, and i swear i could be more than my humanity if you gave me the chance. i love myself, why don't you love me just as much? and his reply is the same as an ocean coming up and down the shore. god exists on a continuum, always there at different extremes i continue, the world is its own set of problems i can try and fix it, play around with your creation and enjoy it as intended i know the terror and the horrors are man made, the feeling of sand on my feet nothing like the nails in his palms, nothing like the knife at that boy's throat and all the more human i end my prayer, in jesus' name, i protect myself, in jesus' blood, i cover myself, in jesus' name and jesus' blood, i know i am loved

sometimes i wonder a lot about myself and when i think about it
everyone has always been right about me

i am a magical thinker, this over-reliance on superstitious beliefs have led me down this path where i don't think discerning reality and my mind really matters anymore
the reality i inhabit is my mind. and eternalism exists within me
the divinity they seek, all the cathedrals are inside me. they pray to me, and themselves, and others

can i doubt what's in front of my own two eyes?
no, but i can doubt in the future
my own experiences are always going to be subjective and they're right about that, too. i don't make false memories but the way i classify and then redact them from my own mind is troubling
my hippocampus resembles a CIA document and there is no freedom of information act or declassification strategy
they can classify me as perverse but i prefer salacious
MY MEMORY IS NOT INACCURATE BUT THE WAY IT ORGANIZES ITSELF IS UNCLEAR

i am aggressive and cruel
i don't understand what it means to be so, and i don't really get what it means to not be.
there is no alternative, i have been conditioned to be a fucked up freak
i am tired, i am unyielding, i scream and yell when i so much as get the urge
slight bouts of rage turn into bloodied knuckles and nice blood drops on the wall
i am an angered god this twisted amalgamation of what it meant to be human pushed to its farthest limits more neural paths than nature intended able to process more than a supercomputer and yet i cannot handle such a gift as i pick at my skin and twitch and croak the feeling of metal grazing against my skin and antiseptic curling into my nose like a snake.