Matter

What's it like,

to have the confidence of God?

Knowing you're right about everything; capable of anything.

When you judge and assume, preach assumption as fact. When you pick the wings off my achievements. How does it feel? 

You hold no opinions, only the truth. Contrary views? The imperfections of heretics. Your congregation is yourself, cloned in your mirror each morning.

Are you compensating, perhaps, or trying to compete;

do you feel threatened;

or does energy truly burn through your body from a sun-hot heart and emerge as a roar

of your own name?

Is that why I'm reduced to ash and bones

every time we speak?

Or is it just because

I wish I mattered to you more?