God is a cruel con artist
Behind his walls
The puller of strings
The maker of fate
Infernal tormentor of lies
We have distorted his image
The savior for all
Line up to meet him
If you can't stand at all
The blind the meek the weak
Can all fall in line
Waiting to meet him
Their maker so fine
Smells like burning gold
New testament of old
Save my petty soul
O bringer of dark
Can I be empty
Alone
He is depressed
Everyday he would like to go
Away from you
Get away from me
If that's what you're into
It will set him free
Shameless, sick artist
Inflicting death upon the earth
Rotating painful ride
Sticking me with pins
Leaving me a wanting need to escape
Im fine
Its okay
Just let it all
Fade
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Author:
bones (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 2nd, 2025 16:17
- Comment from author about the poem: Sometimes I get so angry. I want to fight. I want to run. I end up wanting to hide
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
Offline)
Comments1
It is an interesting poem that blames a god a taunt toward the nonexistent or if existent a suicidal plunge of anger. Well worded it seems drunk with rage. Great images fill its lines.
Thank you for reading. It is appreciated.
You are most welcome
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