"Dear God you're dead," was all she said.

"all you need is love" ... right?

The sun behind dusty curtains
shines like a hazy mine
of happiness that worsens
with each heartbeat of time.

The weight of religion
running heavy in the mind
crashes like collisions
against turbulent tides.

She has no reason to believe;
burned by the fires of desire,
left with her little bastard to conceive.
No preist, no altar, no choir.

Fuck-lusty fools, sword-driving duels,
divides the pride of pure virgin thighs
ivory and innocent, guilty of no crime,
scarred by the blade of saddistic twisted minds.

I can still hear her singing,
"all you need is love; love is all you need."
I can't forget her swinging,
from the beam under which she once believed.


I once knew a girl who was raped, and the events that took place on that one unforgettable night carried with them a lifetime of insurmountable agony, fear, and pain. Before I met that girl the topic was something of another uncontrollable, out-of-my-reach, matters that affected me in no substantial way, but after meeting her and hearing her stories and witnessing the pain and agony streaming out of her eyes I was abruptly confronted with the realization that this widespread, daily occurrence is something that needs to be recognized more often by both myself and everyone else.

Any way you look at the situation, rape is rape, and you can always count on it violently stealing innumerable beliefs, esteems, and other such things. The poem "dear god you're dead" that I wrote, although many times strayed from the constant poetic rhythm, confronts the possibility of a rape tearing a girl away from God, religion, and belief in humanity and love. As far fetched as this correlation may sound, the idea, if thoroughly thought out, is not. It is easy for someone who has not experienced a life-changing trauma to simply say "it's not that big of a deal," or what I used to believe "It can only make one stronger," but the fact of the matter is that if one wakes to nightmares everynight of two eyes that rest eternally within one's mind, two eyes that glare into the soul, two eyes that forever glance up through a crowded room only to disappear one glance later - living with these fears and memories is living death - something a God should not permit to happen. Yes, it is the choices we make that determines the vaue of the life we live, I know - but where was God in the Holocaust? This omnipotence seems to become decreasingly realistic day after day.

Of course this poor girl could have taken up existentialism before taking her own life, but who really wants to accept man's absurdity in a world of uncontrollable events? I know I'd like to believe, but more and more I look at the world around me and all faith in a God is a leaf in the breeze. Maybe that is why I enjoy getting high and receding within my own mind - it is the only purity of my existence - it is the only haven away from a world torn by hate and greed.