I don’t want your worship.
I don’t want your devotion.
I don’t want servitude,
Glory,
Or praise.

You know this.

So you whisper synthetic prayers in my ear
And I accept them like I’m God.

But I’m the unknowing sacrifice
You have no right to give.

I’m a chipped star’s shard,
Hurtling from heaven,
Suspended in space,
Just as much as I’m falling.

My destination never arrives
Because condemnation is directionless.

So you hold me in your palm
And worship my beauty when there’s none,
My genius of nothing,
My empty purpose of being,
Because you know it
Better than I ever could.