I am the universe.

I’ve died a handful of times
Yet somehow resurrect each morning
Every nightly loss of consciousness
A sour taste of what awaits.


From where I have come
I will inevitably return
A change of state
Galvanized by time.

Deconstructing, dissipating
Reshuffling, rearranging
From infinity to solid and then back
To infinity once more.

The universe is me.

I am abstract, not concrete
A hologram self
A bundle of dying and newborn cells
Held together by the stars.

Not planetary, but nebulous
A dark matter beyond the grasp of my
Quarter century old mind
Materialized from 140 million centuries past
And an eternity to come.

I am the universe.
The universe is me.
There is no death in forever.

It’s a different world underneath this steeple
Church doors swinging open
To a congregation of cruel people
Black ink on a page tells me I’m evil
Condemning sermons broke my soul
You preach “God is love” yet remain hateful

Without end, my soul screamed from inside
While everything you command of me forced me to lie
You demanded so I tried
But lost the fire in my eyes
With every day that I pretended
Another piece of me died

Your reputation and position no longer matter here
I was never enough for you in those miserable years
Secret journal pages wrinkled by tears
Scribbled confessions in cursive, words you’d never hear
Paranoid that I’d injure your career
My parents and Hell were my two greatest fears

You use smoke and mirrors to hide your pretension
Force feed your religion through cold condescension
Wearing a mask
You put on an act
Then exit stage left
Ignoring your own lesson

Behind closed doors
You wage your secret war
In your church congregation
You’re trusted and adored
But come home with your pride
Lay your costume to the side
Take a break from the lies
Abuse safely hidden from tithe-payers eyes

Your narcissism and contempt
The reigns you pull from making amends
Years of servitude ill-spent
I’ve forgiven but you still resent
Dust covered Bibles and empty prescriptions
Remnants of misery-fueled bad decisions
You study verses on love and acceptance
Never practiced but quoted in sermons

No book or religion is worth the price of a life
My own strength was all that kept me alive
By walking away and breaking all ties
I reignited the fire behind these green eyes

It's always two minutes to midnight,
and we're always in the Garden of Gethsemane.  
I don't remember when
moonlight started to burn like this, but
it seems like this is all there is, maybe all
there ever was, ever will be.
The brain has never felt more like
spoiling meat, nor the excoriated soul itself
more reassuringly transient,
as we dance these slow, sad waltzes
with mute, irradiated ghosts
beneath the branches of the doveless olive trees.
The night is sharp with splinters and iodine
and other traumas.  Muffled voices, raised
in song: listen! they are singing inside
the fallout shelters.   Ash drifts like
apple blossom.  Wolf skeletons relearn the
ability to howl.  Everything we fear
is inevitable.  Much of it has
already happened.  And maybe tomorrow
won't bring betrayal, crucifixion or torture, just
something else,
something like agony,
I guess.

When our battle comes from within,
How will it be possible to win?
Our left is tearing away from our right-
How can we win? How do we fight?

We try clawing our way out of this hole,
But only effortlessly, losing our soul.
Lets fight to be heard, let's all scream-
"We need to wake up from this dream"!

Nothing makes sense anymore,
And we are left empty to the core.
Let's rise up from this pit
And tell the masses as we see fit
So all can become aware of the lies being told
To trick you into the mold.

They turn us into sheep
So we can make comfortable the elite.
There is no life in being a slave-
They want us to keep digging our grave!

And there is no heaven or hell,
That a big fat lie as well!
Money and religion go hand in hand
Making sheeple of every man.
Controlling you, and certainly not caring
If your life is worth sparing.

We have to wake up and realize
That our ship is being captized!
Teamwork will be the only way to save it,
That is, if you even give a ****.

Camouflage confusion
To reduce reduction
While your ducks in a row
Are the only thing left to go

Spiral down the stairwell
Denied pleasures in hell
Guilt admission is leaking
All over the God you're seeking
Which does not listen to
In a state of you
Not verse, not chorus
Just a standard torus
As we blindly get by
Before we forever die

I will write
Until my fingers bleed
And the angels beg me to stop

God. Who’s he?

A figment of your imagination, a phantom of my reality?


Who read in a book written a millions years from now, that for only a “small fee” rebirth can be found?

Wanna get to heaven? Sounds great! Make sure to slide a 20 on top of the collection plate.

telling lies like a poor man can get to heaven, oh honey, only the rich can afford wine and anointed caskets. Take your rags to the back, throw some pennies on the plate, we’ll give you the “salvation” you clearly lack for love and understanding.

Our pastor needs another Ferrari, meanwhile
You don’t have a car. Just show up every Sunday, and we promise you’ll rest with the stars.

For $19.99 confess all your sins. Tell it all to a stranger, say some prayers, then do it over again.

This is religion, the largest capital regime. So remember next Sunday, is not always what it seems.