"I call Christianity the one great curse, the one great intrinsic depravity, the one great instinct for revenge for which no expedient is sufficiently poisonous, secret, subterranean, petty -- I call it the one mortal blemish of mankind." Friedrich Nietzsche

Can one justify, no breaths, no gasps,
in empty spaces? Can one person see
that He is dead, it is preposterous.
Preposterous as lighting a candle,
in the day. Whereas wearing a blindfold
at night, so the light won't seep through?
Unknowing, engugled in sheer obliviation
that He ever stepped on this Earth here.
The thought of Him, is being murdered,
and we dig and dig for Him to be dead.
Or we dig and dig to seek truth, truth
of this existence of the tiniest space;
which we occupy and canter unknowingly.
Is the earth God-shaped, and we are only
preservations, the mere thoughts of himself?
Or will these perplexed paths at the end,
only lead us to the truth that we avoid?
To avoid; because human nature is only frail,
and death grips a hold of the knowledge that
we choose to believe, we are a superiority.