blaspheme

walk with a dead god, a dead saint for it certainty causes one to shine even when the living are damned each day from heavy thuds of resignation and another bedtime story comes along, because fiction and non fiction aren't all that different when told to those who need some cool aid. it is either this or be wrestling with dirt raining down, of cheap glittering prizes won without so much as an effort, taken from ships journeyed long in one opportune of a lifetime though it should never be carried out even in whispers, for an acceptable transaction is one with both parties being aware, while a dead god is gagged and bounded. walk with a living god, the crowd loves it, hungers for that shine that comes with praising. and all too soon, the moment has stretch on to eternity carved into a stone the god is neither dead nor living, he was just another personal toy.