It’s not that I won’t express the feeling. I just can’t reveal it.
This sh-t would leave you reeling so I’ve sealed it.
Holy writ that would perish if it left the lips or the tips of the fingers on the page and through the pen.
I’m not God-fearing.
I’m Truth-fearing then.
Apocryphal Gospel. But trust that it’s good news.
I’m the prophet of my own apocalypse. You can’t sit in my pews.
But don’t worry about it because you’ll see.
The truth is that you can’t be me.