I miss God.
I remember when He was
here, in my bedroom.
I remember being able to see Him
anywhere I went.
I remember holding Him
in the palms of my
hands—and for once,
feeling worth.
I have become a box of
broken eggs. I have become
the splintered cross.
Christ carried me
and died on me.
He did not rot in hell
nor did he rejoice in Heaven.
God told me this, before He left.
He said the Bible was not the true depiction of
the rise of Christianity.
He said the Bible was created by the
fools He so lovingly created.
He told me religion was similar to
shopping at the grocery store.
He told me some people only use
the express line.
As God was packing the plastic bags,
He told me Satan was never selfish
for wanting the light.
As God was packing the plastic bags,
I watched Him fold humanity away,
gently, with us on the top layer—
a carton of eggs.
