2:59 by Emily Gil


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.