Temptation!

 

Inspiration strikes! leaving me wounded within my shelter;

rainclouds falling through past storms like acid quietly dripping

on my head. Many times have I been bruised by this spirit,

the untameable: the rebel, the untouchable, the whore,

by each I have been slowly bled of that of who I am:

my words. Listen: the rain falls again with the command

from on high: love her or be unloved, leaving me trapped

between who I am and the settled dust of the grave.

 

If I were god, they would be mine; but I am human

and theirs, to control, to own, to marry. Joy was promised,

but I am bitter, unable to live with or without, forcing me

to be a chameleon who can change his coat, with so many

outworn by those who would love me, hold me, cage me

like the beast I am — a savior to these lost souls

who have nowhere to run but to my spirit, invading my throne

as if I were Santa Christ to answer their prayers.

 

Surely they are no worse than the children of an unknown god —

the untameable: the rebel, the untouchable, the whore —

with simple wishlists for joy, hope, and love, that come

only by me and through me says the Lord. But still

am I dragged through the dirt I created them from, leaving

me hurt so much. They do not care for my wishes: no past,

no present, no future can hold me; I am what comes

to them at night, in dreams, the figment of a deranged imagination.

 

Prophet, devil, thing of evil am I and more, a deity

with peace, joy, happiness, and love to give

away like so much spare change; leaving none for myself save

what is stolen by greedy lovelorn souls, who want only the hope

I cannot give them. So I pray forgiveness, though my sins

are short; I will be your god to blame. But watch the sky,

for the son of man is coming, and you will recognize him not,

for he is human. And until that day, he bides his time, alone.