We are blind.
We are the Idiot Gods.
I am jesus. I am jesus.
can't you see? can't you see?
My Psyche will save you. My Psyche will crush you.
follow me and die. follow me to your death
you are sheep I must save
you are sheep I must slaughter.
touch Me and die.
touch Me and be saved.
can't you see? can't you see?
you are blind.
touch Me and be healed.
touch Me and be saved.
My Psyche will save you. I am the way.
My psyche will save you. follow Me to your death.
judas was his name.
see the beauty of his wings.
she's dead, and so am I.
judas was her name.
My Psyche is not sorrowful.
She is not sorrowful.
She knows this. She feeds off this.
She is not sorrowful.
the world is ending. and I will save you.
the world is ending. and I want to be the cause of it.
Psyche feels. Psyche envies. Psyche slaughters.
do not touch Me you fool. My powers do not heal the ignorant.
you are the sheep that must be slaughtered.
lost sheep whom cannot be saved.
do not touch My robe you fool.
My powers do not heal the ignorant.
can't you see Me? can't you see Me?
I am god. I am god.
Dark hour moon shines off the twilight building. Everything is so dark, everything so twisted. So beautiful in a world marred by people who do not truly deserve it.
He's sitting on the first step of a staircase leading to the upper-floors where the hallways echo nothing but the moaning of his sheep. A young man dressed in nothing but jeans and a pair of moccasins, smoking a cigarette while staring at a body sprawled restlessly on the floor.
Taking a drag from the cigarette, he slowly picks himself off the marble step and takes a few minutes to stretch his lanky body, cigarette hanging limply from his thin lips.
After taking one final drag, he drops the cigarette to the ground, nubbing it out with his left foot. He approaches the red mess on the floor.
Dark hour moon shines through the windows of the building, rays landing on what was left of the body on the floor. It was a corpse of a young man, crimson-red body mangled and torn apart. A few feet away from the corpse where a pair of bloodied eyeglasses and right next to that was a silver briefcase left untouched.
A tut-tutting sound comes out from the mouth of the man who was still with a pulse. He shakes his corrosive-yellow locks back and forth, forlornly staring at the thing on the floor. Using the tips of his moccasins, he gingerly toes what seemed to be the arm of the corpse, before shrugging his shoulders in defeat.
Kneeling at the corpse, he places the palm of his right hand on the, what used to be the forehead of the corpse, but was now nothing but sinew and red muscle. The young man closes his eyes in prayer, reciting the lord's oath. Finishing, he retracts his palm and places his right hand over his heart.
There is a red hand mark over the organ Psyche has claimed as her own.
Sighing, the young man stands up from his position and turns towards the staircase. He stares at the looming darkness.
The goddess behind him doesn't say anything.
Not one word.
disclaimer
and
concrit greatly appreciated