Before there was God

How's it going my red barachetta?
Pretty well, yourselves?
Well pretty myself. So pretty I am. Do you see my pretty colors?
The purple while floating in and out of consciousness?
Floating through the gaping hole of small Rapunzel?
Buried in the compost of another life
Choking on the ashes of your wife
Mixed with the thorns covered in the blood of the savior
Condemned and crucified for his misbehavior
And the misbehavior of every filthy, stinking, vile wretch ever to contemplate the meaning of our so called existence
Why must we be from the all knowing?
What sets him apart and makes him any more real than us?
We were long before anyone recognized such a twisted and demeaning presence
The apple at Eden was a nuclear bomb, it knowledge corrupt, its keeping illogical and unwise.


This poem was a collaboration with maggot1148, only take from it what you are capable of doing.