A Poem In Which Nothing Is True

The Messiah you see painted on the ceilings of your churches and on the floors of the convenience stores on the corner are me--I know that you’ve wished for a better savior in the past but right now I’m all we’ve got. The abstractness of this entire situation has started to turn into some hopeless kind of evil, and I’m here to tell you that it’s okay. It will be this kind of evil that carries you safely through the hazel tempest and you will be grateful because I told you-you had to be grateful. It will be this kind of evil that holds you when God refuses too--it also happens to be this kind of evil that God despises, so let it embrace you just to spite him. The angel you see wrapped around the hay barrels and around the weeds in the front yard is me--I know that you’ve always imagined us to be terrifying and otherworldly beings but right now I’m all we’ve got. If you decline to take shelter underneath the sunspot of my wing, then I will have no choice but to abandon you in this godforsaken town, it is not what I want but in the end, it will be what I have to do. The evil that is casting its silhouette over this suburbia is much, much stronger than me, and it will be up to the soloist who refused my offer of safety to defeat it--we will not stand a chance. The god you see stumbling through the mountains with a broken leg is not your real god--he is an imposter and the fiery devotion he inspires within you will color the sky red instead of blue, it will not grant you forgiveness and allow you to repent for the things you didn’t even do. I have spoken to this god, and all I saw when he spoke was the vultures that flew too close to our heads and how yellow the storm clouds looked, this god will both be the beginning and end of us and it will not be me who allows this to happen. I am both the Messiah and the archangel of flesh and blood and love and everything that makes you human. If anything, I am more human than you.