It was a bloody birth. On the corner of the bed. As god's breasts heaved with the toil of labor. Through a small passage the large head emerged. Sticky red and eager to embrace the hyperbole that had made it famous.
She reached a stubby finger way back. Into the abyss between tooth and gum. A blunt pitchfork stabbing for used meat. And missing scraps of divine intervention.
No miracles in my gruel tonight she muttered. As the cracker's paste slid from where her wisdom teeth should've sprouted. Empty, hard jaws chewed on the gospel called death.
God knelt down beside her and lifted up her dress. The pretty things he had created now so ugly with decision. It's a shame he sighed as he began to penetrate her. that a penis is no longer just a penis. A vagina not simply that.
It's depressing said god. The people that love me, I hate them. And the ones I do love don't even believe I exist. It's not easy being omnipotent. It's lonely really.
So many people talking. No one listens.