What if I told you I was there? I remember when there was only one God. The Heavens collapsed upon the shore and revealed a genealogy I only have my cousin to thank for my recognition. Such a blood meridian disguised by anguish and disaster that revealed to me the truth. That there is one, and that there is enough space to suffocate the others. But our burden of free-will allowed these imposters to fester and give way to innovation; bleeding from our ignorance of each other. I was just a witness; nothing more than a fleck of matter allowed to exist during their introduction. What depression that lays within my chest that has concaved my love for the beyond. I do not covet the misunderstood or the mystery. I am apart of their pronunciation and choke under the pressure of gasping for air.

What privilege to peer into the inferno? What fucking insolence. I am not talking about myself. I am damning the pervert that you inhabit. The molestation of your moral authority to push my neck down. What value you squander. I was there. There was only God, but you fulfilled the hatred necessary to create others.

That’s when I started my geological research. I found another. Another imposter eating away at the fabric of what we have built. It hangs around 200 meters beneath the Marina Trench. The mantle has given way to allow the idolators. Enough space to burn, enough space to suffocate. Enough space to fester and fulfill the sick prophecy of life. If it can happen, it will. Murphey’s law a child’s understanding of reality.

About six clicks west of our initial departure we picked up the growls of ancient religion. The psychology weapon draining my motive, my insistence to be beyond recognition. What I find has been searching for me, and I’ll be damned if our sonar is expired to map out this dissolution. I know it is there. That fucking abomination of existence. I was there. I was present when only one God occupied these lands. Shephard of the misaligned, of the unwelcome.

I was expecting more panic. When junior captain proved his worth with skepticism I almost chuckled. The mental obstacles should have been detected before we passed the equator. The mantle must be more subtle than I thought. Do not confuse subtlety with dispossession or an inability to penetrate. I saw the paranoia before second-hand private started puking. His chakra put into a crucible and burned until nothing was left, nothing to glaze, nothing to pick up from ash and mistake. Just burned. The synapses of his mind failing did not quite match my predictions but were right on cue. The excitement I feel originating from doom and collapse. I keep repeating myself.

I know it is there. I know I was there. I was there when only one God occupied my sinew and bone. Now these toxins inhabit my joints and force me back down. Fucking imposters. I will be witness not just to their inception but their destruction as well. Water filling my lungs a cry of defeat, but more a distraction of my knowledge. I pray to The One that these writings are destroyed in the apocalypse I discover. No man should understand his final moments. To be shrouded by competence while you curse the gods that have forsaken you and the cripple that let you back in, will only dictate the horror you deserve after the pulse is gone.

The first time I heard the culling was in an out-of-use bathroom stall. I wasn’t supposed to be there, but the calling was distinct and attractive. I sat down adjacent to the groan for what must have been hours. The bartender kicking me out and banning me assuming I was a pervert. I would pay anything to be back next to that broken-down toilet. That is why I have worked tirelessly to justify my stowaway presence. I would do what did not want to be done. The rest of the crew tolerating my trespass and the techs respecting my unexpected knowledge of sonar and heat signatures. Some give me the time to explain the implosion but never stay long enough to be convinced.

My cousin died similarly to my suicide note. Thank The One that I did not go through with it because I would not be so close to greatness. However, it needs to be acknowledged the sacrifice required to believe in the truth. Staring down the barrel and smiling gives real weight when you actually pull the trigger.

I am nothing. This endeavor as selfish as it gets. I cannot sleep because the outsider invades my peace. I’m so scared. If only the rest of the seamen could see the iceberg they are about to encounter.

Dog shock the hair creeping down my throat. Tendrils, seeping back up to elicit some gagging response. I’m so tired. My eyes have never had to correct this amount of blur. I’m in so many puddles it might as well be a lake.

Take away my veins and abolish my structure, I am no longer here to serve. The foundation I have soldered now rusts along the shores of begotten disappointment. Are you listening yet?

Do you see my cross-stitch reflection or glitched face? Have you seen my presence or merely perceived it? I am a brush-stroke awaiting a canvas to land on.

I don’t start with this shit. I am here because I have had time to reflect. It is all I can do with my cardboard sign peddling sweet nothings along the intersection of love and loss. My message consisting of mostly just “I am you, you can become me.”

Wealth and abundance of knowledge and surplus of idiocy. I am not afforded such frugality, I usually go all in when I know I have already won. Ten clicks out and my gut signals me to expel all consumed. Those putrid monks taking a vow of silence as if all dialogue doesn’t usher in vapid sucking. Need for attention paramount to Nirvana. God chooses those who are willing to stroke His ego. I do not worship that facilime of punishment. I worship The One. As if my praise allows it power, but only location. I am coming for it. I know it is there.