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The Making Of god

09 Nov

If dignity knew its place it would
Scammer away from me like roaches
In the light. Happiness would know
It does more harm than good with
It’s temporary smiles and fake
Laughter. And success would dull
Its glow and transform to the modest
Flicker of a cardboard match. I tend
To find my way to gluttony, and
Getting too drunk on these things
That don’t know my name and
Couldn’t pick me out of a line-up.

I’m learning to raise up my sweaty
Glass in celebration of disgrace and
Pain and failure. They are my true
Friends on this journey, and I will
Never turn my back to them again,
Replacing them with these shiny
Charms meant for other people. These
Others who will never be God. My
Friends are the bedfellows of deities in
The making. They are the water and
Air of creating, invention and all that
Is sublime. Without them comfort
Is too numbing, and change takes a
Seat at the bar, drinking itself to a
Snowy oblivion. No, my friends, they
Keep me hungry and calculated. They
Have encouraged all greatness in history.
Watch and learn.

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