all the lights are blinding

gods who reach for the blood filled chalices aren’t gods
who are they, these monstrous, hungry things?
magical, fantastical
a spell, and burning flame
waiting for the ashes of those that have died for you to stay a little longer, to pass on as you leave to burn for those now mourning you…

gods who drink deeply from blood filled chalices aren’t gods
“aren’t you a heathen, heretic?”
I’ve known them, sat at their feet and saw them feast from flesh. I waited for the whispers of a drunken fae who said, “if you feed on your own blood, you become a god”
I looked at the stars and understood