A Deviation in the Name of Divinity
As they utter the Greatness of the Divine, my heart starts rotting like a corse of an animal. For the rightness had been carved in the way their hands were out, begging for an epiphany. For how am I cursed to be the lucked out servant of the saintly. My existence carved by damnation masked by pity. To be hungried by the relief that had been nothing but a mere false vision. My savior saved me and devoured me, till I was all over his mouth. I turned around to be good, no good enough. Had all along the chain clung to my matters? Even love itself to be said as what was pure was chained by rules. Was life given to be a blessing, death upon the given. Should my savior come to hold on before it was time to reach inside my lungs? The soil fell upon my head, I was buried within the womb of mother. It was devoid of frankincense, stead, the bugs were swallowing every inch of me which my savior resided in. To be born as a whole, which freedom curled in grasps, not a deviation masking it. Every air that brought divinity wrapped in whispers passed, my skin started to rot. Like my insides, turned around and spun.
I didn't believe in miracles. Even as a kid, I always thought it was something humans made to cope with their inability. If so, it was always connected with a great figure who lived amongst the clouds, they said. A place high in the sky, where the deceased would've been cradled at. I never liked the concept of it. Heaven and hell were always a mere concept to scare off humans, I assumed.
But you were the closest I've ever let to heaven as a sinner. Miracles could've existed, if your hands were placed next to mine on a table. The Great one they praised could've existed for real if you were his creation. Were you? You weren't delicate. You weren't the kindest. You weren't the wisest. You weren't what they would describe an epiphany as. But I would worship you if you told me you were my God. I don't care, if worship was only distance disguised as love, even if I couldn't hold you from under the high pedestal you were on. Even as my sins covered up every pure feeling I harbored, I would've still prayed for my heart cradled in your ribs. I would've resided my goods to your soul. I would've been glad to be let with my sins, as long as you're blooming like a lotus. If I was told to live other lives, then I would've spent each one praising each inch of you. I would've let the supposed soil of my sins rain my head. Then I would always be the breeze that welcomed you in hell.
