In the vault above, He watches through cracked glass, Below, the old adversary just smiles at the farce. Who draws closer when the tether starts to fray? The throne demands surrender, every breath, every day. The shadow asks for nothing… yet claims it all anyway. Easy to see why the dark is gaining ground. That being said, neither offers a hand worth holding. Both leave me shackled in this skin, this story unfolding. Yet the old book still whispers: “Sign here in blood and bone, At the end of all things, make your choice known.” Tell me… tell me where the mercy went. Give me back the God I knew, Tell me what the fuck He thinks. Why this endless silence, this cosmic fucking shrink? Said He made us in His image — so why the shocked recoil When we mirror back the void, when the cracks begin to spoil? Why does absence feel like punishment? Why does doubt feel like the only sacrament? Then why does He act so surprised? When the children stop pretending, When the temple starts to capsize. I am Prometheus, chained and still burning. I am the Christ, hung between two failing stories. I am the nothing that remains when faith collapses. I am only this — a man, unraveling, Trapped inside the cage of what I used to believe. Don’t pray for me. Don’t save me. Just let the silence speak…
