Oh, the darkness. The darkness of one’s
shame. The shame you must have felt when
you realized that the one you promised to
adore, you left in the streets to die. In the
streets, to die, three times. And three times
don’t even compare to how many other times
you would have done it. You didn’t really care
for no one. Not even yourself. Your salvation.
Careless and fearless. Heartless and
powerless. Thoughtless and worthless.
Worthless of His love, His care, His divinity.
You didn’t really care for no one, just your
own selfish skin, perfecting like that
the definition of dishonesty for all those
who came after you. For those who wrote
about you. For those to learn from you.
They came looking for you, three times.
Three times, you denied Him. Three times,
you refused His grace. As if it was valueless,
meaningless, pointless. Oh, the ignorant mind
that doesn’t understand the merit of His presence.
Yet you became a false prophet for the masses,
establishing a righteous cult that doesn’t care
for holiness. You didn’t really care for no one,
just gold, praise, control.
Your love was in vain. Your love was a midday
hobby to overcome boredom. Your love,
was not love. Putting at risk those whom you
actually loved in the name of only blasphemy.
Yet you wanted forgiveness. He forgave you,
redeemed you, saved you, but I can’t give you that.
Not for Him, but for me. You didn’t really care
for no one, and that doesn’t sit well with me.
His mercifulness, His sacrifice, His heart
aimed to save you from the confines
of oblivion. Only after His resurrection, you
came back begging. Begging for clemency.
The same clemency you didn’t appreciate three
days before. Three days before when you
denied Him. When you denied Him three
Times. You didn’t really care for no one.
Your lack of accountability is regretful. Your
lack of respect is sickening. Your lack of
faith is shameful. There is no chance in hell I’d take
you with me. You didn’t really care for no one,
and for it, Tartarus will eat you alive and leave your
bones as a disclaimer display. A centurial display
for people to learn how not to be like you. Not
to be like you and swim through the
Isle of the Blessed.