It was Truth that twisted faith,
not youth, devouring like a Wraith
feeding on my soul.  Loved ones pleading
for control say It bore a hole.
So I rush to stop their bleeding.

It was Fact that found no difference,
no difference between the Muslim,
Jew or Gentile.  It was the Wraith
that found no reason
to believe I had the Truth.

It was my youth that made them
scoff, scold and scream, and it was
this screaming that led me, dreaming
of the Wraith.  Why scream if
you’re so right? So sure?

When the Wraith was finished,
faith a twisted carcass, the scoffs
and screams turned to pleading for my soul.
They fear hell awaits me, so it
breaks their hearts to know.

I rush to stop their bleeding,
pleading to ease the suffering
caused by what disgusts me most,
an imaginary host who brings on
so much fear, demanding the title
“God”.

It was Truth that twisted faith,
not youth, devouring like a Wraith
feeding on my soul.  Loved ones pleading
for control say It bore a hole.
So I rush to stop their bleeding.