To those
Blessed by God,
Truly sanctified by
The most high
It is a burden.

A punishment
Of positivity.

The problem
Is.

You don't choose
To be chosen
By God,
He,
Chooses
You.

And, the pious
Turn green with envy.

The holy aspirant
Denigrates the blessed
As though their auspices
Entitle them a relationship
With the divine.

You cannot
Volunteer to be
Selected.

And God is the judge,
Not us,
Not our aesthetic preferences
Not our rightly deserved
Rewards,
For doing the thing.

God is my comforter
Until He's not,
And I honestly hate the guy,
Prefer Satan.

Deserve?

No,
Punished.

Jeremiah 1:5-7

Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations.

Then said I, Ah, Lord GOD! behold, I cannot speak: for I am a child.

But the LORD said unto me, Say not, I am a child: for thou shalt go to all that I shall send thee, and whatsoever I command thee thou shalt speak.

I wanna get
High,
And,
Ramble about Gods
'N
Quantum physics.

Qubits
And
Kali.

I wanna bike on those
Southwest side
Wide streets,
And scream whatever
Song I'm listening to,
To the magpies
And the passing rich
White people.

I wanna hallucinate an
Entirely new
World,
And notice the trees,
Breathing to the rhythm
Of the pulsations in
My eyes.

I want prophecy and
Vision.

I want
Synethesia.

I want undulating
Sidewalks
A low creeping fear
And the world incongruantly
Flying towards
My face.

I wanna lose my mind
On drugs.

Here,
In my
Personal
Synaptic system
Asymmetrically firing
In no direction in particular.

Proverbs 8:7
“For my mouth shall speak truth; and wickedness is an abomination to my lips.”

I have made myself
Abominable.

And,
Curses do spout
Out my gibbering maw.

I am
Blasphemy.

I am
Hallucinated terror.

I am I.

And,
That's all
I can be.

I am
Caked in the ash,
Of a sacrificial animal.

Rubbed raw on
The rocks
In a fallow
Forgotten
Graveyard.

I am blood,
And,
Sinew,
And,
Sweat,
And,
Dis-ease.

Awful offal
Casting hate
From a dehydrated
Mind.

And they are
My auspices
And my penance.

I was once a beautiful
Possibility.

Now I am a
Suffering
Certainty.

We're all
Disposable
And,
Mostly interchangeable.

So,
Why get
Attached
To temporary fair
Weather friends.

Or some delusional
Obsession
With one person,
For a ****,
And a listening
Ear.