Playing God


It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t get it out. I know what I want to say, but really I have no clue. I keep mis-believing, thinking my thoughts are important – that someone would want to listen. But no one cares what I have to say. I’ll keep talking anyway.

I’ve been hoping my thoughts will reach you. Across time and distance, I long for you to hear what I can never say. My tongue is swollen, glued to the roof of my mouth. My arm is cramped and my fingers numb. I’ve been writing this down for far too long.

And the more I keep writing, the more I’m convinced these words will make history. You’ll find them several humanities from now, swallowed up by a cave. Loose-leaf will be the new lambskin. My mindless ramblings will be the new torah.

My audience is faceless. I’ll never know who they really are. I’m the modern day prophet, speaking from a burning bush. I’ll make the laws and I’ll set the clock. This is my firm and guiding hand. My fingertips prove my guilt even as my hand keeps lying.

We’re still trying to make sense. The pieces won’t fit, so we’ll use Xacto knives and superglue to hold it together. This isn’t going to answer any of your questions. It’s designed to make you ask for more.

So give up. Go home. This won’t be over soon. We’re spinning and spinning and spinning. Is it any wonder why we haven’t yet grown dizzy? My pen will run dry long before the fog clears. Can there be any hope for the hopeless?

JUST STOP. Stop breathing, stop thinking. Don’t sleep. Hear me, but please don’t listen to a word I say. This is naught but the idle ramblings of a girl pretending to be God.