That dreaded question

Pain leads to anger and I am angry right now. Give me a fucking rest, will you?! Yeah, talking to you again, God. I’m tired, leave me alone. You’ve beat me enough. You win! There, I said it! You win! You’re stronger, I know it. I got the fucking message! I’m human! I KNOW! But why do you have to keep proving your vicious and relentless power to me?

Let me be. Give me peace. And I mean on EARTH, you idiot! Don’t get the wrong idea.

Stop. Please, just stop. I beg you to fucking leave me alone. What is your aim? Tell me, if you know it all… How come I can’t know?

For the love of god, why me? Why, why… a million times why? I’ll never know. Nothing will ever satisfy that dreaded question. It makes more sense to me that you do not exist. All life is random and some things are just plain fucked from the start.

Let’s pretend that you do exist. That would mean you are:






Oh, not evil, you say? Only good, huh, God? Tell that to the millions of babies you took at the time of their birth. You find those to be “good” acts, do you? You would have a plan and purpose for an idiot little baby who knows nothing of the world? You need them in heaven with you, is that it? What, you got a baby factory up there? Probably do, working them to death up there too.

But you insist you are good and holy. I insist I fucking hate you and don’t believe a word of your filthy lies. You destroy lives. You wreck families. You kill. You rape.

OR…you don’t exist and it suddenly makes sense.

You saved me, you say? Helped me recover, did you? Helped me survive all these years? Another one of your lies meant to make men feel weak. I saved myself. I got through it. ME! My family! HUMANS have the strength, not you. You’re just a shit-stirrer. Quit taking credit for my fucking accomplishments!!!! Oh, you selfish fucking weasel. You ultimate fraud.

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