man is not meant to be a god
which is why he can kill and not create
the power of death is a lie
intoxicating like wine
for a moment you are free
limitless, seamless,
but blood, like wine, wears off
until there is only death
that you cannot end, your power
is powerless and you hate it
it reminds you that you are worthless
fragile, you can fall apart
the poisoned apple has not made you divine
but maybe the next one will
to kill again will set you free
and so I do
I touch heaven as it turns into hell
