"Have at thee, false Christ I've been dreaming on."
These days, I don't feel anymore. I have become a mindless, emotionless shell of a man. I'll mow your lawn, I'll slice your grapes for your high-end meal and I'll take out the trash on Tuesday nights. I'll hang out, I'll chill, I'll attend family dinners, and I'll go to Wawa with Uncle Brian. But I won't love, I won't hug, I won't cry, and I'll never desire again. Because everything that is quintessential to a teenage boy's life has been twisted, painted another color, slathered in poison, boiled to a searing heat, and shoved down my throat. And to think, this is only the beginning.
Oh, you were considerate, weren't you? Here, at the bottom of the ocean, I laid. I had sunk from the Light and the air to a black, endless Abyss. Then you showed up with your tiny, submersible machine. You poked and prodded me with your tools and instruments. I thought I was saved. I'd be taken back to shore and I'd see the Sun again. You opened up the pod bay doors, then shut them closed. Then you revved your engines and surfaced again.
Now here's me, drowning.
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