And it's not necessarily the way you look at Jesus,
But the way I don't.
And it's not necessarily the way you know how to say every line,
Of every prayer,
At every mass,
But the way I choose not to.
It isn't because you believe that people grow wings post-mortem,
But the manner by which I pluck each feather of faith,
From the pinions,
Growing on your back.
It's the way I see them as a noose,
Curling their way around your neck,
Slithering over your Adam's Apple like the serpent itself...
You can call me Eve if you want to.
If the crown fits...
But there are thorns in this crown,
The crown you have bestowed upon me,
Blessed for me,
Prayed over and cherished upon me.
This crown has given me the power to deceive.
To make armies out of countries,
To make animals out of people,
To set the standards for love.
This crown that the serpent blessed with his venom,
Each drop of blood on my forehead flows,
Red like the beginning of any rainbow...
But we don't accept those around here.
Rainbows are condemned to exist in hell and hell alone.
Although, there is no rain in hell,
Only sunshine.
Regardless,
You can call me Eve if you want to.
I am Lucifer's medium by which to poison you.
My apple is my faith,
Or lack thereof,
And your mouth is the mistake that god made when he created you.
When god made Adam,
He ran out of skin by which to mold him,
And left a hole on the front of his face.
Through this hole escaped the workings of Adam's brain,
And the occasional whispers of the pink serpent that dwelled inside.
For man has his own inner demons,
Godly, or not.
And while Eve may have bitten the apple,
She did not create the evil in this world.
She simply released it.