waystead-prophet

[waystead-prophet]

I feel unclean

I need to swan dive into my own chest and eat those forbidden spaghetti strings

[waystead-prophet]

At what point does youe harem become a polycule?

Asking for a friend.

[waystead-prophet]

Stop lying to yourself

Justice isn’t going to come, it will never come when called

Only you can grab it by the hair and puppeteer it to your own means,

Then with the blood on your hands the world can revile you as cruelty when you are exposed to the truth

There is no justice, only the shell of a god you have broken.

[waystead-prophet]

Jim jams

[waystead-prophet]

I don’t feel whole, I feel cracked.

I understand the toothbrush now

[waystead-prophet]

Dead gods become pirates,

It’s a fact

[waystead-prophet]

How does this variable contribute to our discussion

[waystead-prophet]

Filter your teeth first

Shop room filter

Dead filter

Dead to me

Dead to me

Rot rot rot rot rot

Please let me rot dear fucking god man...

[waystead-prophet]

If I catch any of you sick fucks at long John silvers it’s on sight!🥊

[waystead-prophet]

Drink piss piss blood and do something worth a fuck. For the love of god just stop talking about your fucking flight tracker no one cares!

[waystead-prophet]

A man made temple takes their tithing in gold, yet the debt to our god may one only pay in blood. The shedding of your own inner divinity to deal mercy from a higher justice as the one on our ground rattles around the corpses like crows.

[waystead-prophet]

Nana once said that suffering was divine, gods hand guiding you to the strength you needed to be forged as his knife, but god was an artist not a blacksmith, and only a knife knows what imperfections must be struck in order to be fit godly pain, without that your bloodshed is worthless.

[waystead-prophet]

I stare back now

[waystead-prophet]

When your left wondering if they hate the person they shaped you to me or if they hate the person you created yourself

[waystead-prophet]

Pray to me.

[waystead-prophet]

Drunk child on a ship. I repeat a drunk child. On a ship.

[waystead-prophet]

Wound them. Kill their pride kill all of it leaving nothing left standing but the tattered decrepit remains of their once gilden self worth, spit on their maggots and scream to the wolves about just how worthless even your own venom becomes