blind faith

⚠️pov of a character ⚠️

They told you to kneel,

so you snapped your knees on stone—

called the blood a blessing,

called the bruises proof.

You stitched shut your eyes

with the same thread

they used to bind books

you were never allowed to question.

“Believe,” they whispered,

as they dipped your head in silence,

“Doubt is a sickness.

Truth is a chain.

Let it hold you.”

And you let it.

You wore obedience like armor,

but it rusted—quietly—

from the inside out.

Blind faith is not faith.

It’s surrender dressed in scripture,

it’s a cliff called a stairway

because the fall is holy.

They fed you stories

like knives made of sugar.

You swallowed them whole.

Sweet.

Then sharp.

Then gone.

You called the pain “growth.”

You called the absence “test.”

You called the silence “God.”

You called it all love

because hate in robes

learned to smile.

When did you stop asking?

When did you trade wonder for worship,

curiosity for a collar,

your spine for a pew?

You speak in verses,

but your voice is gone.

You echo.

That’s all.

You echo.

Faith should not flinch from questions.

It should not fear the dark.

If your god dies in a spotlight,

he was never divine—

just dressed for the shadows.

Tear the veil.

Tear it yourself.

With bloody hands and raw breath,

rip it down.

If there’s truth behind it,

it won’t run.

If there’s not,

good.

Now you can finally see.