What am I God!? An instrument of lecturing? A pedagogical avatar implemented to reach the huddling masses? Those that be blind needing a fevered wreck of a mouse to guide them to milk and honey lands. The pilfered hectares of indigenous slaughter; razed in black to make way for the sniveling rodents to revel in their specialness. Pitiful paganistic backslapping for hallowed mortals coiling in self-congratulatory swings. Thee thus have spoken and oh must I forever obey your calls. Is it a game you play? Is my existence some cosmic joke tickling your Adam’s rib?
I walk miles and miles searching for escape routes, peering endlessly into the darkening vortices of reason. Justify these means you have lain before me. Inexplicable inescapable rites and rituals and patterns corrupting me, controlling me, coordinating my every move. A rook with no castle, a wanderer in the sparse parched desert you created for this Idiot. A naïve, sullen, devout automaton worthy of Dostoevsky. A cipher to release your cryptic message to these worthy ears trailing behind me. We are hooked on phonics monkeys so please just spellitout for us for once.
I am a wrecked recluse. A tired, singularly diminished toy soldier wound its last turn. Every jostle, every left foot right foot is a festering ache pleading for relief, some miniscule, mirage even, of salvation or salvo at this point. Let me breathe for my own sake, can you not give me that resplendent respite? a little off the top? I have been humble all this time, decades of abiding, solitudinous servitude to your unseen visage. Voices crackling and cackling in my broiling skull. Followed directions without asking, not knowing what is real.
Am I not deserving of choice? of the free will given the sheep you clutch to so dearly? You coo and fawn over these dull deleterious debaucherous creations. Sin a second cousin to them, vileness and vice imprinted on their sullied skin. They commit violence against all manner of earthly manufacture and still yet you covet the beasts. You speak not to the fraction that do good, commissioners of peace. Bloodcurdling pleas have been falling on deaf ears since inception. Are you afraid of favoritism or worse admitting fault in this divine creation of yours? Answer me godking! Look upon your glory and answer for your transgressions.
This is what I ask now. No, demand now. I deserve an explanation, I deserve the mighty Word to be stripped of paternalism and delivered. My life needs a purpose, a way beyond being a divine tool. A way that is mine. Whoever I am, I want it my way.