Old empires

Our gods fight against each other while we pretend we are in love mine usually win, in the game of paranormal warfare death remains unbeatable. We are the same souls, descendants of great empires, conquered without a choice, adopting a foreign religion that eventually became a domestic curse. Both at the end immigrants to a country where we constantly feel we will never belong.

While you pretend I am yours (yes, I still have a problem with private property), I continue on playing my will-never-commit-will-always-run-away game,  

where are your gods? mine by now just go and get drunk out of the blood of

the less-fitted survivors of global capitalism and neoliberal North America.

We are so similar and yet you seem like you don't want to see it, 

you want your pain to be unique, incomparable, exclusive, 

remarkable, rare, indivisible et héroïque.

Your gods should have thought you that everyone's pain is. Sorry to kill your dream, mine didn't tell me, I just read it in an article on a pagan magazine. 

Can each one go back to our smuggled heroine?

Technicolor walls become obstacles between us

they were built while we slept, in silence, secretly, obscurely.

Your schizophrenia will make you think I betrayed you by building them

my paranoia will make me believe that someone is trying to break us.

They were built by our own gods, and our fellow followers, 

I used to love you with an immeasurable passion I devoted all my time to you. I guess this is the infidel's and the heretic's pain, now I hate you.

Why did you have to take over my nightmares too?