Godless Iyovi 〈WORKING〉

Now I live on the far ridge, where the old gods are too tired to listen and the new ones have not yet learned to lie. I keep no shrine. I light no candles. But I watch the stars spin their slow, mechanical grace, and I think: this is enough . No judgment. No mercy. Just the cold, honest clockwork of a universe that does not hate me—because it does not see me.

I opened my mouth.

It lives in the space where nothing answers—and you speak anyway. godless iyovi

By fifteen, I had watched the priests anoint a man who sold his own niece for land. I watched them call it divine will . I walked out of the temple, and I did not look back. That was the day they carved the word into my flesh: Godless Iyovi . Not with a knife—with a whisper. And a whisper, in our tongue, cuts deeper. Now I live on the far ridge, where

And for the first time in twenty years, I sang. But I watch the stars spin their slow,