It was early morning when God abruptly woke her up. From dreams about paradise. And all the small places in which it hides. He said the garden was a lie. The apple was just a metaphor. A long needle too blunt for the drug it was meant to supply.
You'll always be monkeys in my eyes. With your sticks as weapons and your virulent arrogance. Entertainment. Nothing more. Cavemen afraid of the fire. Neanderthals mesmerized by lighting.
And now more than ever. As you are so close to understand the sources. I am nothing. A single atom in a collider full of thousands. Each of us omnipotent for a moment before we are destroyed.
You my dear are different. You see me. Know that I am present. In the raindrops that quench your lips. And in the sparks in your groin. I am there. In every way that makes you weak. and strong. I am yours. And you are mine.
We are enemies as much as we are friends. Delicate amoebas fiddle with the dials on this contraption I named life. But only you are clever enough to that notice it's not plugged in.