Hated, even in the womb

   
   "Hated, even in the womb"
   
   Yeah, you turn a lady down who thinks she's the cat's pajamas; next, she wants to kill you, allegorically.  It kind of all works like that.  You see a little boy in a wheelchair with no arms, and you think he has it better off dead.  You tell a teenage girl or boy that ya'll are her or his friends, only to abuse them emotionally, because you are blind to life's beauty.
   We all are indoctrinated sometime; on the contrary, a few follow an indirect path, knowing that suspicion is not paranoia, seeing others lick their vampiric chops, wanting to murder, being assassins who kill softly, under a radar even, forged by iniquity to serve a monstrous state of hidden chaos. 
   The baby dodges the pencil-like instrument shoved into the womb, fighting for its life.  
   A man alone hears them, and clearly, mocking, spreading the fabrication of your false testimony, if only so that you can get a trophy of some kind, and be called a good fellow in front of the mind-bent masses; indeed, the simpler something is, the closer it is to God, and the ascetic relies on pure instinct, resisting not the soul-wash of a wicked baptism, for what is greater than God?  Yet the critics even attempt to fool Him; however, in all of God's foolishness, if He has any, He is wiser than any man or angel.  Get used to it, for we'll all be seeing Him soon.  And Papa don't like that . . .