A fruit that kills,

A woman that deceives.

A man, banished—

Exiled to the mud,

from whence he came,

and shall return.

He toils and tumbles,

screeches and cries.

The trees watch,

with growing silence.

The roots cave in.

They are ignorant—

to my suffering.

A witness that

never confesses.

They bear fruit

that fall and are bludgeoned.

They cry in silence—

there is no one left

to devour their pent-up tears.

—I grow tired,

I grow weary.

Why is it always about Jesus' Suffering and God's Sacrifice?
Where is Mary?
Where is the woman whose reward for goodness and virtue was to have her baby boy tortured and killed as a warning?
Do you think Mary the ******, Mary the Mother, Mary the human ever regretted being good enough to earn attention of her God?
Do you think she ever quietly, privately, resented her faith?
Cursed her fate to be raised on a pedestal, carved into history as beautiful, weeping, covered in gold, cradling the body of her child?
How would she feel today, to step into a church and see above the pulpit, larger than life, the glossy painted likeness of her boy, thin and bleeding, looking to the heavens to a Father who would not spare him?
Was it terrible for Mary? Did she hate her God, in the end? Or did she stand tall to the last breath, a reluctant but obedient witness, faithful despite everything?
Was as she ever torn between her faith and her heart? Her love and her fear? The choice between loss or betrayal?
It would be terrible if she was in torment, but would be terrible if she wasn't.

The human thigh bone is stronger than concrete, a boy in a man's body tells me, as he ***** down a joint trying to **** himself quietly. I find it funny that we weren't built to break, our bodies are so strong it takes trucks to overturn us. the funny thing is, we were designed to survive but they forgot to make our souls strong. sometimes people talk to me about the invincibility of the human spirit, and I think that sounds really pretty but doesn't solve problems like how teenagers are taking their own lives off of shelves as if they were thieves in a seven-eleven. they say the human spirit can endure anything thrown at it, but then how come so many of us hate ourselves so hard we can't see straight?
the human thigh bone is stronger than the buildings we keep killing ourselves in, And I have realised there is a big difference between being alive and living.

dog days
a murdered child's
        spoiled remains
   muddy the reservoir
soiled
the tap water  must be filtered
    for years to come
                in memoriam

Not against any good philosophy -
But religion is disgusting.

What's it yous worship anyway?
Superstition - nonsense.

Thinly veiled is your philosophy;
Dogma about me, me, me, me!

Proudly wearin' your mark of beasts.

This the symbol, crucifix;
Nailed up "our" "prophet," we did!

This is the ritual, wine & bread it is;
Cannibal feast of "blood & body."

This the symbolism, con𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯;
Reductionism from philosophies stolen.

This the comedy, tragedy;
Bastardizations from destruction & butcheries.

Like orphan children what livin' off charity;
What's me mother's name? Who's my daddy?

Eschewing everything
Cause you refuse to see, nor to hear.

You worship only yourselves;
This that your balderdash?
Nay. You are your own blasphemies!

There's your "divine" "comedy."

Joke's on you lot
For not just havin' "forgot,"
But for stealin'
And sayin' yous didn't.

Crimes enough
To fill sheets yous call scripture.

No such miracles
For those believers.
Those who worship, only worship nothing -
They will be outside of everything,
"Existing" as nothing.