God is a Hostile Artist

What have you washed upon the canvas? 

I am so very pale. 

I am puddle, a composite of all the things

reflected within me. 

But not really a thing in and 

of itself. 

Watery thin. 

Depleted. 

I wish I could muster the energy

to splatter you with

Expletives.

Do you not know that even my

grey 

and wary bones

have something about them? 

Who are you to wither me

like this? Dilute me

like this? 

Do you not know my topography

by now? 

My f*****g map. 

I am territory

carved up by 

red rivers of blood.

Each droplet 

one moment of misery 

I have endured to stay 

here. 

Oh, my soul 

searches for 

an obscenity 

-- you're taking my 

lips! Giv' 'em b- 

NO

NO