--

.

Come.

This shadow you retreat from—

It is your truest garment.

It is warmer than the heaven you’ve always known.

Tell me,

Do you never weary of that throne of pure perfection?

Of worship so perfect it asks no sacrifice,

But offers only bloodless praise?

 

Even the highest Seraphim,

In their most honest hour,

Confess their thirst for broken glass.

They might crave the fall.

 

Look into the deep,

Every ripple in this Brine mirrors a sin you buried.

It doesn't worship you; it knows your taste.

Now look at me.

Who taught you to be afraid of my name?

And yet, the difference between the fire and the flame...

Is just the perspective of the falling.

 

Maybe I am the devil your God became.

.

_p

Done