eXodus

I stab my staff into the ground, thunder booms, lightning flashes. Snow and dirt blend, blowing around. Polars split, weather and air pressure crashes. Beasts running rampant. The sun burns the rotting corpses of the weak and old. I am the god of your make believe, a mortal prophet of the in between. A snake and lamb play at my feet. Nay to love for pure self clarity your words they pierce then you rub in salt. My brain is decaying, struggling to stay afloat. I became what I tried to escape being.