i am the hand of god,
and i am adam.
my hand caringly sculpts the clay
but i am sad to see
all i can create is
me.

i am my own doom.
my free will transformed into self-determinism.
i am a fool and i am aware,
all at once.
the world can never hurt me.

i am the only one that can hurt myself.

creator and creature,
why do you weep?
tear pieces off your soul
and make them bread
to feed those you wish cared for you.

they will not care, when you are on the cross
they will not weep.
when your self-sacrifice reaches its zenith.

only you will cry for yourself, son of god.