Our beloved GOD проза

Look in my soul, it’s slowly rotting as it is alone as the Sun in our galaxy. Death is the only thing you will find in me, it is my only property, i have nothing else. I beg you to stop dreaming of me, I often find myself enclosed in your dream and I am afraid to vanish when you wake up. Except for death my soul is full of hate that I am always ready to pour out if you give any reason for it. I look too grotesque in comparison with everything I hope in. My febrile imagination leaves me far behind the darkest corners of the darkest places, my fantasies gleam in my head warning me that all my thoughts will undoubtedly bring an end to my gray and useless existence. The only thing that makes my sick and haggard face shiny is the metamorphosis of a rotten, ugly and dying worm in a free, fascinating and adorable butterfly, how I wish it was me. My eyes are covered with ashes that burn them and prevent me from enjoying this incomparable act of beauty, nature and justice.
I invocated to our beloved god but he ignored my hollow but imploring and screaming gaze. My hollow eyes were full of hope, pity and pain. Soon my eyes got rid of hope and pity, they were absorbed with pain, irritation merged with hatred and despise ready to throw out briskly and ready to find another pitiful victim, in a face of God. This indifference made me more groggy than I was. My last hope diluted in nothing. I want to fall down and die, but my pride begs me not to do it!, but, oo’h my head oooo…. I can’t stand this anymore, my legs are so frail that they are near to breaking in the knee, my eyes are getting tired, I swallow my last saliva, my spinal bends under the weight of my unforgiven soul with the only thing “death” that was always my inside hope….

God glanced at my dead body and said to himself: “Yes, I was busy, but I wish he had asked me to help before head. He has chosen his own inevitable fate. A strange lamb”…
15.04.01