777

you told me, in your words, youve killed God summers ago. you found drachmas rested between your knees, you made them kneel for you, you were who they pray to when the wells crack in drought. you were the one to make them come true in times of terrible fires, it was all yours. all yours to abandon. 

wishful thinking will become old-fashioned death for all of us. 

your incompetence sickens me, even suicide waits for you.

you killed God summers ago and bathed in what he carried, what he was lashed and whipped for, the serpent's fangs returning to you like jewels skittering across your back. there is beauty in sin, theyve always been such a tease. "its the ones who resist that we most want to kiss," wouldnt you say?

you killed God summers ago and you still utter the name of his angels. and i wonder how your mouth tastes... bitter? conflicted? metallic?

i taste a little bit of the devil in you.