letters to a dead girl

religious studies

dear horcrux experiment number 4,

today's left me in a state of confusion, and i'm in need of your philosophically driven brain to help a poor soul like me. but your brain died approximately 180 seconds after your body and with it went the remaining human of me ( poor fragments of a broken soul like the broken mirror still on your apartment floor).

i despise religion. the idea that a supposed highly developed race such as humans blindly follows and devotes themselves to a figure one has no evidence of is astonishing. astonishing and awing. to think a group that thinks so highly of themselves allows themselves to be manipulated and ruled by a figure they'll never even see. first world country? power nation?

could've fucking fooled me.

it almost invokes a strange sort of jealousy i haven't felt in quite some time— there's no longer a need to be jealous when you make yourself the only one in the room. a whole group of liars that call themselves the church have become so well respected, not just feared. it's entrancing the way they're followed with such blind ease. idolized.

you always hated idols.

i, on the other hand, admired them.

would you have idolized me? my ideas? poor, poor, number 4.

in the late hours of the night, after countless drinks when the smell of cherries and flower perfume and skin on skin was a comforting presence, we spoke of my admiration for the ancient greeks. gods existed then, and they were idolized in ways i dream of. prayers, gifts, and offerings. respect and quivering fear. the beliefs are not set and decided, changing through the years and stories weaved with bias (time and manipulation, two ruthless ladies, maybe worse than you and #2, merlin knows she was a tough one). they seemed to agree that men hold enough greatness to match the heavens — and hell, i suppose. gods carved out of white marble look no different than a man, or perhaps men look no different than those who are said to control us.

you always said i looked like a greek god, didn't you dear?

i pulled you out of the mere misery of existence, gave you life, and took it away just as the damned gods do. the blind faith you held in me was the same thing you cursed others for, and look where it led you.

hypocrisy was always a flaw of yours.

who's to say i can't give it all to you once again? who's to say your rotting flesh won't rise from six feet underground? would you dance your way up to my thrown in the sky?

maybe i don't hate religion.

are you on your way up? will your views change? did time away do you good? a little break from the hellish world.

you always said it was overwhelming some days.

your ever repenting god,
tom riddle