My god came to me before my very birth--
Their radiant light a looming darkness on my soul--
And before my feet happened to touch upon the Earth,
I had tasted on Their lips the means t'make me whole.

Their lips showed the cosmos.
Their lips showed me distress.
Their lips left me comatose,
Crippled by their lips' duress.

My god appeared to me upon my birth--
My lips still mute and mind still mush--
To inform me that I'd proven my worth.
"It'll take time, my little one. There's no need to rush."

Their words showed me intellect.
Their words showed me euphoria.
There were beacons merged with derelicts;
The most glorious phantasmagoria.

My god appeared to me just now--
Smirking back in my reflection--
He told me that I'd done him proud,
That I'd become my god: perfection.

I'd showed myself the cosmos; the truest intellect.
I'd showed myself distress; the cruelest euphoria.
I was no longer comatose; not just a derelict.
I'm now the bringer of duress;
I'm now Phantasmagoria!