Home » Poetry » Let’s call this one Gibberish, for dramatic effect.

Let’s call this one Gibberish, for dramatic effect.

We are what we make ourselves.

Prophets. Martyrs. Fools.

There is no difference.

If it sells, it sells.

And the more grotesque, the better.

Greater pain equals greater possibilities.

Blood is not just blood, it’s profit.

It has and will always be.

The grand illusion.

Story time before the big sleep.

You see,

faith can be a very clumsy thing.

A very scary thing.

But it doesn’t make a difference either way.

Prophets will stay prophets.

Martyrs will stay martyrs.

And fools remain fools.

How does declaring a child a man make him any less a child?

It doesn’t.

But it sells, so it sells.

Eventually,

you get it.

We were the monsters lurking under the bed.

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