Please take this dollar from me.

 Please, take this dollar from me. The texture is brittle and cold, it makes a crashing sound each time I touch it, and I can not feel the happiness it brings. It holds my heart in such a way, it folds my mind to in the things I say, it saves no time, and it gives no love. Please take this dollar from me that corrupt the souls of ministers and pastors; this curse upon the world that shows neither compassion nor soul. Some say it will save me, some say it will bring the things to my life that I need and want, but the truth is it has not brought me anything but pain. This unrelenting, unyielding pain that swarms my heart like millions of ants trickling above the mound that they built binds me to this world like a disease. It is that time in my heart. It is that time in my mind. It is nothing, but that time again and again.

 Is there a probability of this existence that some one else out there feels the way I do, or is it that they are concerned solely with what they see as the only solution to this life we lead. My solutions have failed time and time again, so I pray to the only soul that I have been taught that would bring me joy, bring me life, which would bring me peace. Why is it that God hates me so? I sit by the candlelight, southing is its’ flame that dances about in my mind. Is it my fate to exist in a world that knows nothing of love, nothing of caring for someone other than themselves for each moment that they breathe air in, and out? Can I never behold something long enough in this lifetime that it will finally break this curse that is upon my mind, the cross that bears down upon my soul like a million mountains carefully stacked so that there is no avalanche. Not one pebble falls, not one grain of sand trickles past the first obstacle releasing the ever holding time I have to live in this world.

 I find it most illogical, even on a spiritual level, that God has kept me in this world thirty two times now. I feel that he has a plan for me, but when I walk his path, when I hear his word, when I stand my ground for the things that I am told are right and just and will save my soul from eternal damnation it is all for not. No man holds my dreams in such esteem that it could formulate a plan. No woman holds my heart to say that there is one thing in the world for me to hold on to. Twenty seven times have I tried to take my own life, but the other five were just life knocking at my door. Heaven is non existent to me, and hell… well hell is being here everyday.

 I get up in the mornings and feel the warm concrete that hasn’t dried in my neck. The base of which held together by muscle and mass, no strings attached. It grinds slowly like wet sand, and holds nothing but pain in a reservoir waiting to be unleashed upon the world. They say I am irritable, cranky, and time and time again I only note the inconsideration of the seven spinal injuries, the bad leg that I walk on, the sour ankle that my boot supports with each step I take. No one feels the pain that I do. Pain is to them the moments of time between the pills they take, or the drugs they abuse. My pain has no such leash by my own accord. I can not think with these things constantly weighing on my mind. I can not see any ray of light at this tunnel, nor the next. My only choice is to be silent.

 To be silent in a world full of men, full of women, that care not for what I say, only what I do, and only for what I do for them. I ask nothing of others, I ask nothing of this world, and still I expect nothing to change. It has been so long since the abuse I suffered as a child, the days and nights of sitting next to strangers that call themselves my family and friends, the haunting memories of my dreams, and the nightmares that coexist now in my constant thoughts and my disturbed mind. It has been so long since that time, the ticking noise makes; that time the second hand moves slightly, but only enough to mark the next passing of a wasted moment. It has been so long, and is constant.

 I have been at this stone before. In my mind it has only been a few million times, but in life it has been many more. I stand with my feet at the edge and the wind to my back. It chills my spine rushing the pain up and then back down again. I have stood upon this spot so many times now in my mind, it nothing more than a reenactment to me now. I see the cars below passing by unknowing. I see the people go by with their self concerns, their greed, and their everlasting evil that reminds me that I do not belong in this world. I can see a better place in my mind, but it is so small that it would take more technology than the world possesses to make it visible to any that would see it. They don’t want to see it, they don’t want to grasp it, and they do not care.

 I go to step off each time. I lift my foot to the edge and let it dangle there for a moment. Some ask what my hesitation is, what is the pause to my cause. If I choose to end it now with nothing achieved in this world, have I wasted everything that I am, or have I finally found the peace that I long for so much? When I set my foot back down, the grinding in my ankle reminds me why I am standing there. The black hole that is now my heart reminds me why I started the trek that took me to this place once again. The dollar in my pocket reminds me of why the other foot should have followed the first when I went to step off, but then… then it is that same pain that reminds me that even if I did make this leap of faith, I would just survive it like I have twenty seven times before. I see the ground so far away, and remember that this is just another day.

 I give my heart to all those that I see. I give my mind to all things that would be. I hold no hate in my heart for mankind, for those were the instructions left to me by the dead and divine. They say that the times of your life that you look back to see the single set of footprints behind you is that divinity guiding you and holding you up when you yourself could not make the journey. I don’t see that. I see the trail that I have left dragging my broken body through the tiny glass shards, I see my legs bleed from the trials I have been asked to lead, and I see the indentions of my own soul as it has bled off like leeches attached to a plagued boil called my life. I see no divine justice in this world, and wonder if anyone truly believes they will be judged as I see the diamonds and gold blinding me from the reflections of light that allow the pastor to be illuminated like a God. He speaks the words that he himself does not hear, he preaches the lessons that he himself does not adhere, and it is not my place to think anything different of him. To be happy for him for his wealth, riches, and fame is the only action that is condoned; the only action that is lawful and right.

 To the doctors they send me. These men no better than ministers of a forgotten faith, these men that question, probe and study, they send me to these men, these scientist of the mind and body. None of them want to hear my thoughts, none of them want to see my world the way I see it, none of them want to do anything but go home and collect the check that gives them the life they are so content with. If I died right in front of them, the only thing that they would have to say is, “What a shame.” They do not say this for the mind that has been lost, to the wisdom I have grown in my heart from years of dealing with the pain. They do not say this for any other reason other than they know they won’t get paid. I am convinced that I will never be happy; I will only have this absolute pain.