They told me to preach the gospel—

Although… what gospel?

'Cause the only gospel I know

Is shedding blood, then go report to the Lord

Like we playing broken telephone.

My soul could’ve stayed untainted,

But the body couldn't teleport—

And the eyes couldn't play pretend

Or unsee what they had seen.

And yet—"nothing is as it seems?"

So whom do I believe?

If I can't buy reality, seeing as it's illusion—

Though some would argue I'm just broke

And lacking the means.

But tell me, what depicts it?

What is it that I envision?

If the Lord is all-knowing and righteous,

Why would He want me to tell the world

Of the plagues He caused on earth?

Can't be for the same love

These priests keep preaching.

Now I get why they say "Fear the Lord"

Before they ever mention love.

So—is it as above, so below?

Or is it as it is in heaven?

Heaven being the mind?

Or let’s just pretend it is...

'Cause if it's faulty up there,

Then nothing can go right

with the body down here.

So why paint the picture

Of a perfect God?

If it is on earth as it is in heaven,

Then heaven must be hell—

Since it's the only thing

Reigning on this earth.

If heaven is the mind,

Then what of thoughts that spiral,

The silence that screams,

And dreams that bleed?

What of the voices I never summoned—

Still echoing in chambers

I didn't give permission to speak?

Maybe that’s why they preach fear first—

Because love never stood a chance

In a temple built on guilt.

They say the war is spiritual,

But never said it lives

Right between my temples,

Where every unanswered prayer

Becomes a question mark

Shaped like a scar.

So what gospel should I give them?

The one that burned my questions?

Or the one that made my doubt divine?

what gospel?( Original version)

A. Zoya