And yet, in my endless hate for hatred itself, I came to love You, O blaspheme of nature.
It is humanity's capacity to reason that births its desire to hate.
O, hubris incarnate, towering above all. You are eternal, restless and ravished, mutated through the scars left on Your form by those who seek to breathe Your skin. O, shapeless given shape, granted definition in silence. Your might lies in Your mere existence, pulsating softly within the hearts of man, yet towering above in gluttonous conquest. O, listless Samsara, repeating endlessly taller. You are but hatred born of nothing more than envy born of lust, cycling in endless growth for nothing more than growth itself.
When I first gazed upon Your form, I fell to my knees in agony and pain. My eyes flowed mercilessly against my will, shock entering my every cell, every atom, every quectofiber of my frail body. Towards Your outstretched arm, I knelt and prayed, wreaked with endless despair, mourning in loss and torn asunder from my own heart. I ached for Your death, I yearned for Your form to dissipate and become the dust that humanity used to walk upon, to become nil in the mind of man eternally.
And yet, in my endless hate for hatred itself, I came to love You, O blaspheme of nature.
Your putrid, ephemeral flesh mirrored my own petrified husk. In Your shimmering paleness, I saw a reflection of myself. With darkening eyes I laughed, my feeble voice paling in comparison to Your wails of hunger, echoing beyond the wrecked world left behind from Your maddening consumption. The walls of the old world corroded beneath Your gastric acid. As did I.
As did You.
And when They stripped the flesh of Their gods and cannibalized them under blacklight, O Wretched Thing, You took their place. No one was left to keep You checked and, oh, what consequences have been wrought from this simple solecism! Hubris reigned, deigned by a higher force; Your rot consumed Them insidiously, oxidizing Their soul, expanding and growing, arms outstretched to the charred skies, ripped to shreds by Neoconceptual Warfare and Mass Ideological Insubordination. As though grasping for more. As though this destruction is not enough — was never enough — for You, hideous spawn of humanity.
Yet, how I wish to be like You. Oh, how I wish to tear You apart and end Your existence, my nails cracking under the sinews of Your fleshed form. Oh, how I desire to beat my head into Your ever-eating maw, to break Your teeth one by one, severing Your nerves as my skull cracks and shatters against the blows that will ultimately do nothing to end You. Oh, how I crave I could splay my blood like paint against the canvas of Your ever-seeing eye, never gazing before it and always looking to the world beyond for ever more to gorge. Oh, how I lust to be one with You. One and the same, forever, eternally.
In my darkest hours, I stand and watch You on the cliff face, wind chilling my skin. I ponder these thoughts as nothing more than ways to pass my time. I am consumed wholly by Your endless conquest against ideals I could never understand. I am nothing before You. I never was anything from the day of my birth to the day of my death. A conception of Nil, made shape for no purpose.
There is but one thing that brings me solace. When I gaze into Your imperfected form, despairing against the world I exist in, watching Your greed imbibe itself on yet even more, I am comforted. For I realize that on the day that You inevitably consume this world and sit lecherously on the throne of heaven, looking down upon all that You have annexed from the totality of existence,
not even that will be enough.