On the Fallacy of Divine Inspiration

We all need peace and quiet,

But it can be a little numbing

To learn the silence is directed at

You and your shortcomings

Your artless repetitions

Don’t hold up on the rewatch

And God looked away

To turn on Charles in Charge… 

His beard reeks of Backwoods 

Known to rock a heavy fog

In his blood stained Christmas sweater

Demons swarm the itchy arms

Ignoring your existence 

Until the evening’s gloam

Then charge your crystals, load your gun

Daddy’s coming home