perhaps a tearful god may be discovered by a creature who creates from pain, from sorrow, from the depths of the blackest despair... for is that not the meekest of beings and is not heaven promised thus... so does she still pray... has she written a new r

eligion upon the remnants of torn psalms and bloody palms scattered among sightless curtains and words left unsaid? Hope you are well, shweets! a very melancholic, dolorous agony oozes from this nostalgic write... thanks!

"to a God who wept as much as she did" touching line.........well spoken

Who needs a ladder to God, when you have the anchor of the universe right inside you? crazylady.

there's always that feeling that what you write is worthless, or abject; I come to think of what audience am looking for, what sign do I need for some self-worth. Is the writing escapism or the making of...this was so sparse in its word choice, but extre

extremely crushing and effective

You never disappoint...

Never.

never ever.

breathtaking....

God still weeps... but I've been where you wrote, and I can still feel it down deep. Thanks for sharing.

I think the way she used to pray, is the same way I used to hope. I adore this. ^V^