your savior

I was not built for the apocalypse

For days like this

For sinking ships

Angry fists

For lying lips

The Judas kiss

The end of innocence

A broken government

For the swarms of locusts

Your savior sent.

Wicked ways

Darkness creeps

Like a thief in the night

Tells you he is good

He is light

All these lies

Are going to break my mind

It’s all a trick

Your wicked ways

Are making me sick

Who are we serving for dinner tonight?

What is real is fake

Don’t turn, don’t look away

Don’t break

Look at all the innocent blood we’ve found

God, let me survive

To see you burn it all down.

A poem about love and hate

I can tell you this

In truth

Never in my life have I had so much love

In my heart

For the innocence

Of children

And have it be matched

By hatred

Of those trying to steal it.

This World is Going To Burn

Perhaps my next writing project

My mother told me I had not been born with blue eyes like almost every other baby. I had been born with my father’s eyes. Green like the springtime grasses, or two twin emeralds. Or green like a snakes. Depending on how you wanted to describe them.

My father is the most evil creature in the Universe. Or so I’ve been told.

He also owns my soul, thanks to my mother and her vanity. It was really not my soul he wanted. It was supposed to be a bargaining chip for someone else’s. So far it hasn’t been working out so well for him.

My mother sold me, before I was even born. She traded it for eternal beauty. Right now she is resting in her coffin, her body refusing to rot. She is just as beautiful as her peak modeling days in Paris. It doesn’t change the fact that she is dead.

But none of this I knew until I died myself. And woke up in Hell.