We do not pray to the same god..!

He stands above me, looking down.
He has a look on his face
that is faux-disappointment.
Really, he’s taking some glee
in my disheveled appearance.
My chin is covered with several days stubble
and my ribs are visible on my bare chest.
All that covers me is a torn rag.
It would be unthinkable for himself
to be in such a state.
His robes fall just so as with his hair.
Yet he takes no joy in it.
Rather to him, this is a strange competition
and flowers bloom to spite each other.

I’m hunched over,
sitting on my knees.
The ground is cold and lifeless.
Tiles laid in a perfect grid.
Next to me is the knife.
It’s handle is gold
but it has no intricate design.
It’s blade is a surprisingly dark blue
that shines hauntingly
with the morning light.
I am sore.
I am tired.
The blood dripping down my side
is warmth I have not known for a while.
It is as an embrace.
All of my cuts, though shallow,
ooze slowly.
Each river finds it’s own path.
Some join together creating a web
on my sickly skin.

Finally, he speaks.
His voice is a precise
and carefully thought out tone.

“This is not worship.”

My vision is block by a curtain
of tangled brown locks while
I stare at the grow.
It is amazing how little
one can say with words.
You could string thousands together
and not mean anything at all.
Yet, also so few can reveal
a terrible amount.
Hollow words tell much
of those who speak them.
The line between two tiles
catches my attention.
It is so straight and unstained. 
A mason must have laid
it with such care.
In that moment,
this floor was his world.
It was unbearable to think
of all of the skill and training
it took to line two pieces
of stone next to each other just so.
It is perfect in such a way
that in disgusts me.

“Are you listening? She does not want this!”

He doesn’t know what to do now.
I’m not groveling to him.
I’m not bowing to his supposed power.
He is the one who speaks
to those higher than us.
I focus on my breathing.
I can feel him want to shake me
or maybe hit me. But the cracks
of doubt are running through him.
He is sure in his ways,
but only because they are all he knows.
The energy is running rampant in my body.
I can feel each hair pop and fizzle.
My skin seems to crawl.
My lungs are on fire.
His demeanor changes.
He steps back in shock.
I lean forward and put
my weight on my hands.
The cool stone seems
to respond to me.
It greedily accepts my heat.
I can feel my body begin
to shake as if my bones are popping.

“She is the god of order boy!
This is madness!
This is how you pray?!”

Finally, a smile appears on my face.
I feel a laughter erupt from me.
I cough, all the while still laughing
with all of myself.
My head jerks and I spit on the ground
a pool of blood.
I see myself reflected in it.
It is a face scarred with a joy
unreachable to most.
It is full of an exhilaration that resonates
far beyond my flesh.
The laughing only intensifies.
His eyes are now full with the most human
of fears; the fear of the unknown.
I roll my head back and look at him
with half lidded eyes.
His slender figure stands before me
but all I see is a child.
The laughing leaves me slowly.
The words fall out of my mouth
with the greatest of ease.

We do not pray to the same god.