Logic dictates atheism
Faith is equated with fairies and zodiac
Parlor tricks sold to those sitting in pews
Every Sunday, every Sunday
Heaven is rotting in dirt,
buried below a tree that grows from a ribcage.
Living is only a side effect of dying
with an Icarus complex.
when baptized as a baby,
my head couldn’t hold itself up;
the church claimed another soul
to send dancing to the Morning Star
can you see the lord’s face
without loving someone?
there are proverbs that would beg
to differ.
the line between myth and miracle
lives in the crawlspace
of arteries and armies
constructed in heresy’s blood trail.
belief is not comprised of white-out;
sins are not a word document
not rough drafts for rewriting:
morality is abstract and true.
grantaire’s lack of cross
is mine to bear in due time.
not a believer, a anti-leader
of nihilism and despair
the sole spiritual experience
was switzerland’s gift.
perhaps it is a lack of oxygen but I think
god is a piece of chocolate
a life’s working theory
in midnight realizations and caffeine
a story to be continued
or not
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