Scorn

I can't wait for the day

when you eyes are finally opened.

When you feel the absence

of your God's love.

When the solitude finally leaves you

in a puddle of your own sour tears.

When the one you love is dying,

and you feel their suffering

chafing your arms,

chafing your heart

with every hug,

and you finally ask:

"Where's God?"

and the callous builds on your soul.

When the coldness of your heart

consumes what pleasure is left

and declares it a deception.

And in your cold chafing

and callous solitude

you become me.