do not thank god for things.
he now knows what’s important to you.
in time,
he’ll wipe your elegantly adorned slate clean.
he always does.
in the end,
you end up with just the opposite.
an unimportant, clean, fucking slate.
ready for the cycle of defilement once again,
infused with the looming knowledge,
you’ll never stop returning here,
to this eerie outpost inside your mind.
now there’s nothing to thank him for.
thank god.
thank god i have the strength in me,
to go with grace.
22:01, [took everything from me]
- A.H.
