Upon somber reflection,
One of my mentors,
Was obsessed with Jesus.
Purely from the distant, analytical lens.
She failed to realize,
That prophets come –
And messiahs go.
We cannot deconstruct a dead man,
Claiming to hold our souls.
I refuse to be bound,
To gods,
Nor demons.
My art will quake the heavens,
My drill will pierce the sky.
Helixing upwards forever.
Nay,
What is a martyr?
Faith?
I possess it in spades,
Resting the Empirical Method,
Next to my Sword of Damocles.
Once upon a time,
I played Jesus.
A little boy,
Pretending to give fish.
Such simplicity made sense,
To a boy used to fishing for dinner.
Such indoctrination,
Repulses me now.
Damned to live,
Eh?
The mortal enemy of the WASPs.
Punk in black and blue,
Skin scraped down to bone.
I need no personal Jesus.
And I’ll devour any gods,
That stand in my way.
Jesus Complex.
