Ill be your Judas, lined up on the wall. Ill be the wing man taking the fall. Ill be your realist, pummeled to dust. Ill be your Judas thrown under the bus. The hated one to break the news that theres only two rooms in your Fathers house, both filled like a fountain with expired wishful thoughts. Its not your hell or heaven to cast me to, to promise or threaten. For mine is the void, the Kingdom of Nothing. As above, so below. Both sides of the curtain. All malice and power and scraps for the faithful. You can swallow crosses to the hilt, swallow narratives greased up with guilt but you cant pray your way clear of the gnawing doubt. So Ill be your Judas, wrecking the shot. Excised from the final cut. Written out of Glory. The cynic at the gates that any god worth their salt could appreciate. Ill be your Judas. Youre going to need some realist.
juda, realist, swallow, excised, greased