One. Two. Three.
I’m a man.
You’re a god.
It’s not going to work.
Call yourself a servant to humans--
I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.
Say it over and over until I believe it
But I hardly believe myself,
You gods will never understand the suffering
Humans go through.
Death. Strife. War. Plague. Pestilence.
An apple core rots deep within me.
Its seeds will never plant.
They’ll burn up before they even make it to my womb.
Missing an eye.
Eyepatch in hand,
Did you want to trade?
Taking everything from you.
I want to see colors one last time.
How dare I want?
You make me feel sick.
Thinking about you makes me feel
Like all of my feelings are going to explode
Out of me at any given second
It won’t be pretty. It will be red.
I will be seeing red and only red.
That is what you do to me.
You are God.
I am Man.
We’re not supposed to touch.