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Literature Text
its like theism was an excuse
to be the good samaritan.
like your belief in christ
made you humanitarian.
do you truly need a leash
to keep your teeth away
from a human being's flesh?
Are you really so astray?
No charity has escaped my grip
beneath the influence of God,
for only animals have masters
and I'm not a goddamn dog.
to be the good samaritan.
like your belief in christ
made you humanitarian.
do you truly need a leash
to keep your teeth away
from a human being's flesh?
Are you really so astray?
No charity has escaped my grip
beneath the influence of God,
for only animals have masters
and I'm not a goddamn dog.
Literature
we, yes
And we could barely move for fear
of what we didn't know
but it had wrapped its hands around our throat
and squeezed, enough
that air was difficult to come by
and breath itself
a luxury
movement
was a mad scramble required energy requires EFFORT
we can't move can't move cantmovvecantmocccc
Writing made the thing in our chest
loosen
so that instead of strangling
it was just
squeezing.
we didn't know what had caused it.
ignoring it, maybe; it did
demand
to be fed.
We were unalone. or alone.
we couldn't tell.
were we lonely? or just afraid?
we were one; but it was easier to pretend,
not to be - to be more than we were, to say
'I am here,
Literature
In the Mirror
She cracks the door just an inch, peering through the crack into the darkness of the room beyond. Lightning flashes through the window, illuminating vague figures standing still. Fingers twitching, mind racing, heart pounding, she pushes through the door and reaches to grab the nearest figure. The white fabric slips silently off as she touches it, revealing the chair underneath. A wry grin finds its way onto her face and she moves through the room. Dust bunnies run from her falling footsteps, jumping quickly then slowly drifting back to the floor. She slides the cloth from several pieces, a table, a couch, more chairs, a trunk, a vanity.
Literature
Lampades
Forgotten.
Left in the dreg heap of time and history.
Spirits who wander as pale shades of light, in abysmal darkness.
Come, oh daughters of Hekate!
Sing, oh fruits of Nyx!
Rise, oh women of raw identity.
Lay hands upon the Forlorn and outcast.
Soothe the spirits of man burdened.
For as living men tell lies, the Dead tell no tales.
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we are exactly who we choose to be.
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Comments10
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That's interesting. I'll definitely share it with my fellow atheists.