#1500

This no longer feels like an old religion, like bonfires and incantations and ashes smeared on moonlit skin, like wood and bone and stone, no, no, that primal power has bled out on unconsecrated earth and this feels like new religion, like empty words and empty songs and empty altars, like a god who turns away his face and allows others to speak for him because he really couldn’t give a shit, he’s been at this for so long and what’s another thousand years without miracles, they keep on believing no matter what, and fuck you if that’s what you think because I can’t remember the last time the sky lit on fire or all the tongues of men were turned to gibberish and I’d give anything, anything, for another apocalyptic flood to come roaring in and wipe it all away, remake the face of the earth itself so I must relearn how to walk in an unfriendly wasteland, that’s my kind of religion, the kind with destruction and recreation, with retribution and jealousy, cause when’s the last time you coveted me?

That’s what I thought.

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