Paper Faiths

I was born a good Catholic,

and then came catharsis,
outcast of Eden,
his only miracles
manipulated mediocrity, the
sabotaged mundane.

I stopped believing in
magic; saw it as flipping
the
axes of
naked perception,
upside down to
thin consent
it make us
wide-eyed fools.

Anaphylactic angels,
allergic to romanticizing
quantumly entangled beings,
all-seeing ghouls,
all the while trying to
rationalize
heaven,
rehabilitate our
crueler qualities.

If the universe had been
created flawlessly, we
wouldn’t even exist.

And you’ll probably never
meet my devils,
nor will I know yours. I’ll pray
for you regardless,
not through God,
but something that means
more to me, in which purity will
never be feigned.

If I am infidel,
there’s no sensation of shame.

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