Whore Prophet

Elijah.
You talk big for a murderer and a misogynist;
water-cooler-gossip,
snickering,
telling your bros about what a whore I am,
while I made miracles,
filling bellies in the heart of the desert,
and wrote thaumaturgy on the hearts of children.
You talk big about the false prophets,
but you carry middle-management hatred,
like ring binders in your mouth,
hatred that boiled over and slaughtered my kin,
with no provocation, for no reason,
but the name of your god of war.
But remember, it was I who chased you into the desert,
I who put you to wandering,
I who made you weep for death.
In the end even your god sent upper-management down
to take you away:
a PR disaster not even the high heavens were ready for.
Tell Elisha we won’t be any easier on him.
Tell him my name is Jezebel: Whore Prophet.
If he comes for me I’ll eat him and feed his bones to my dogs.

-o0o-