god is silent.

busy playing as chuck. salt on earth, he's entertained. the board pieces are moving. colors hoisted. hearts are bleeding. souls are deforming. flame eternal still. down on earth, above everyone still. being god is to bandage before the cut. and he did.

the bear loved the wolf, it was obvious. it ripped the wolf's throat out, then licked the dying wolf with the most passionate affection. he thought of you and him. the old god and the new. that was what we will always be. a war in his name, does it blow you hard enough, little old god? you had struck him so hard he saw stars. he had struck you so hard he became god.

the grief, the pain and the joy you had made, he wore, grey and all with the name that had once graced you. he had turned bougainvillea long ago, thanks to your sweet children. your memory trickled down his spine like a sweat. one step forward. then another down the lane you had paved through with your feet. you in front of him.

you'd made him good enough. you made him in the shape you had made him, filth teaches filth, god learned from god, god to god. the original taught best, they say. thanks for the crown. and oh, looks who's out of the bottle.

"rusty? my." he wiped the splattered blood on his chin with his palm, looking like divine absolution. this is sport, but he don't play. do not think he could not stain his very mouth wine-dark with your blood by biting you again. chuck, god, smirks. "shame."