I am a crack in the wall, a liminal space between here and the Void. Transmissions come through whether I want them or not. I decipher and decode and transmit out, little more than a relay station.
Crisis of Faith
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The Ranting of a Mad Priest
Your scream is terror,
incoherent and unknowable.
Endless is Your wrath;
insatiable, Your hunger.
Destined are we
to be enveloped
in Your cleansing darkness.
Mother of the Void,
consume us.
We are unworthy of rescue,
for it is we
who hastened Your coming.
It is we who stand guilty.
Come, O Dark Mother,
repay us our iniquity.
The Proclamation of the Defiant
No gods.
No masters.
Just myself,
standing face to face
with the raw imperfection
that is me,
radically accepting myself,
flaws and all.
You see,
I stopped bending the knee
when I saw how much greater
I was than god.
All of my sins,
I wager,
don’t compare
to the blood
on god’s hands.
No.
God cannot judge me,
for god is unworthy—
for god is unworthy.
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