Inspired by the song: "The Cross" by Within Temptation.
Are you there?
I don't know, I never know anymore.
But, I don't think you are, because if you were here I wouldn't be here, I wouldn't be suffering, I wouldn't be crying for help, a cry that ends in deaf ears, a cry that no one listens but myself, and maybe even I don't hear it. My ears are deaf too, they are tired, they have been tired for a while.
They were the first part of me that has fallen, that no longer work because of this intense pain, a pain I shouldn't be carrying. A pain that you left me to carry alone, and I still wonder why did you had to leave, why am I crying again for you.
I can't get over you.
My throat is sore, but so is my heart. I am thirsty; water has no reached my mouth in what it seemed years. Water is life. My throat has no water, my heart has no water.
My heart has no life.
I can hear their whispers of fear as they see me; they think I'm a monster, someone that takes their water away. I am. But that water does not fulfills me, on the contrary, it makes me more thirsty, it makes me want more water, water that I cannot have.
I can feel the sun over my naked back.
The Sun burns me, my back, and my body. They complain about how they suffer, but do they suffer as much as I do?
The mighty sun and the lack of water makes me want to stop, but I can not, they are threatening me with spears, spears that want to stab me and shed my blood, I deserve to be wounded.
But I don't want to be wounded.
Still, they hurt me, and so do the whips.
They whip my body, making me cry in pain as blood comes from the fresh wounds, blood that runs down a body and hit the sand.
The sand is as thirsty as I am. But it want blood, I want water.
I let out another grunt as the whips hits me once again. They say my whip is lethal, but that is not true.
This whip is lethal, the one that is hurting my body, making it cry.
And still, you're not here. Why? You should be here, helping me, comforting me. I'm not okay, you should be here.
Why aren't you here?
They judge me as if I was Judas, but my sins aren't that big.
Are my sins that big?
The torture I give others is nothing compared to the torture I give myself all day long.
I can hear their cheers, they are afraid of me and yet delighted to see me as I am right now, and it hurts, the humiliation, the pain.
They laugh as they see me walking up that hill, with a great wight over my whole body.
Why aren't you here to help me carry this Cross?
This Cross is so big, it has the weight of the pain I've caused, but it also has the weight of the sorrow you caused me.
And now I am here, carrying a Cross made of hate and sorrow, while my body cries as blood runs down and feeds the sand and their hungry souls.
They feed of my blood.
I can't stand this any longer, I can't keep walking, my body aches.
The Cross is too heavy and you're not here to help me carry it.
Why aren't you here?
I cry again as the whip hits me again, and I wonder, oh I wonder, why aren't you here, why did you left me with this weight?
I wonder …why am I still crying for you?
You forsake me.
And now I am crying, carrying this Cross up the hill. And they laugh.
Tears of humiliation run down my cheeks from my eyes. But these tears are nothing compared to the tears of sorrow.
The tears I have shed for you.
I beg to them to stop hurting me, to stop swinging those whips that hurt me so much. But I have wounded so much other beings with my own whip.
That's your gift.
A whip that I use to torture.
And a Cross.
A Cross I have to carry up the hill, so I can satisfy them.
You should be helping me carry the Cross, but you left me with this weight.
Why aren't you here?
I continue with my charade while awake and my torture while sleep and I wonder. Why am I still doing this?
Why do I torture them?
Because seeing them in pain relieves my own.
But now I feel how my dry mouth begs for mercy, a mercy I cannot have.
Mercy I don't deserve.
I want water, I want mercy.
Suddenly, I feel how I am kicked down, and how the Cross is lifted from my back. Then, I found myself lying down.
Upon the Cross.
The sun burns my eyes, my mouth is dry, my body is crying crimson tears and my eyes crystalline tears.
I feel how I am being tied to the Cross.
And they laugh.
They laugh as I am being tortured.
I am naked, with ropes tying me to the Cross, my arms wide, my legs together.
I am now one with the Cross.
Now, the Cross and I are being lifted.
I can finally see all those creatures laugh as I am Crucified.
I cry of humiliation as I see them laugh, me tied to the Cross, facing the crowd.
The sky is red, the sun is hiding.
And still, you're not here.
You're not here, not even to laugh at me.
Then, I feel another whip hit my torso, making me cry in pain.
I look down, trying to see my aggressor.
I see no one.
Another whip hits me.
Another cry of pain.
Another roar of laugher.
And you aren't here, still.
My torment doesn't seem to end, and the pain doesn't cease, and that isn't fair, I'm just…a kid…
Then, another cry of pain comes out of my tormented sore throat, from my dying lips.
A Crown made of spines had just been placed over my head, and I can feel the blood coming from the depths of my skin, from my forehead.
I don't deserve this torture, I beg for mercy.
But no water, no mercy.
I cry again as I see them, I'm humiliated.
Humiliation, that is it.
They all mock me as they see my naked figure get tortured, as the whips hit me, as the spines cut me, as the blood feeds the thirsty sand.
Then, the crowd vanished.
I can hear no more laugher.
I blinked in surprise.
Now, all I can see is the desert, and the sleeping sun.
But I'm still strapped to the Cross.
Suddenly, I let out another cry of anguish, another cry that penetrated my deaf ears and hurt my sore throat. This time, the cry is louder.
The pain is worse.
I look down and saw a river of blood drip from my abdomen, I was just stabbed.
Stabbed by a spear.
In pain, I look down; I need to identify my aggressor.
I want to.
I gasp in surprises.
The one who stabbed me was you.
You are there, laughing at me, with a spear that drips blood on your hold.
And I cry again, I cry because it still hurts me.
It's not you…
This time, I look like you.
I'm my own torturer.
I see you laughing at me.
I see me laughing at me.
And I cry out of humiliation, sorrow and pain.
Your laugher pierces my deaf ears.
I close my eyes and feel the sun still burning me, the laugher still mocking me, the tears begging for mercy.
And it came.
Suddenly, the silhouettes are gone.
My wounds are not there.
The blood disappeared.
The crown disappeared.
Suddenly, I feel myself waking up.
I'm in my bed, in my room. I'm alive.
I feel tears build up in my eyes.
My hands and feet numb under the blankets.
My heart in sorrow.
I want to move but I can't.
I feel the sheets covered by sweat and pee.
But I don't care.
Because, it doesn't matter if it was a dream.
Today, I will torture them again.
So I can torture myself when I sleep.
Because, even if the crowd is gone.
The blood is gone.
The desert is gone.
The crown is gone.
The whips are gone.
The Cross is still there.
Sleep or awake, I carry It.
And tomorrow night, it will be the same again.
I will Crucify myself again.
Because, even if I am in pain, in the Cross.
I torture them so I can torture myself in my sleep.
Because, you're there to stab me every night.
Every night I Crucify myself.
And I like it.
Because I see you there, at the end.
Why aren't you here?
But…you are here…
You're the Cross.
I carry you all day long, all night long.
Every night, the crowd is the same, the whips are the same, the desert is the same, the spear is the same, the crown is the same.
The Cross is the same.
And I will close my eyes and let myself be Crucified, because you're there.
I will close my eyes only to see you again.
You're the Cross.
You're my Cross.