#fankenstein

Inktober day 2: Discover

They discovered a strange village in the wood.

Inktober jour 2: Découvrir

Ils ont trouvé un étrange village dans les bois.

A/N: Have some Frankenstein fan-poetry(?) everyone, I am not okay.

--

God is dead.

You should be happy -

you screamed in his face that you wished he'd die, and you meant it,

didn't you?

Didn't you?

God is dead - he died not on a battlefield but on a sickbed, small and forgotten,

a crooked, tired smile frozen on his crooked, tired face.

His halo outshone the bags under his eyes, but it's gone now, (it's all gone, isn't it?).

There's early silver in his hair and stubble on his chin, and he is dead, and he is so much like you.

He hurt you and you hurt him and you both hurt yourselves in that broken, wretched affection of yours,

because "I want to hurt you," meant

"I want you to feel how I do," meant

"I want you to understand me," meant

"I need you to understand me."

God is dead.

There are no more commandments and no more sins and you are in nobody's image,

and hating someone less than you hate yourself shouldn't be the same as loving,

but it is, it is,