Religious Trauma

I fell for your skillful embroidery of lies, the knots you tied so pretty and tight I believed those epic narrative stories , and you were my purpose and light. And you haunt me with your wisdom, with your mercy and all your might, I just wish I could escape the reality That you painted for me so bright. I believed it when you said I'd burn Consumed by flames for my life But I am who I am, and after all God doesn't make mistakes right? If I'm a mistake then you are a lie A fable that keeps me awake at night How could a mere human know who or what the metaphorical being of might could possibly be, or if it even exists how could they price they are right?