I am the victim of a fragile and moody God that went dancing to the local club instead of praying for me. He wanted my disguise, to live like a mortal, and since he couldn't kill me he gave me a particular vision: smoke volutes, I blink to his encounter; I feel the glare and want to go in.
I am the victime of a fractious, singular God that took away my woman at will and committed her in a brothel that he administer as a big man pimp and got to the point of mistaking his impunity for omniscience. What's given is mine, I won't give it back.
