The son of the serpent

Background song: The devil is an Angel, by Chris Brown:

  🎶🎶🎼   she said she an angel, but a

                devil in 

    disguise

            had me thinking that she

         was heaven sent

No I'm in h£ll 'cause I believed her lies

she got a halo, but it don't mean she good

               you play innocent, but you

                           know what you did🎶

 The seventh day, they call it rest. I called it insult. 

There He was, like a breath of time unseen, breathing into their nostrils until dust stood up, the one they call MAN— a duality. Flesh(blood), and Spirit, a rare and never heard creation. No labour. No war. No tax paid for the spine. Just a gift. Just grace, He called it; life, and the life without trust ends in betrayal.

I watched from the branches. My scales were still new then. My tongue still learning the shape of questions. My subtlety still sparse, unshaped.

He slept like a caretaker, a prince. Eve walked like her authority was earned. The garden did not question, as though it's made not to complain. 

Because nobody grinned, doesn't mean I'm confused. I know what He meant by this Creation. To rule, and subdue. To give a chance beyond the reach of the angels.

That's one thing I hate. Not the beauty, beauty ruins. Not the innocence. Innocence peels with time's test. Not the authority. Authority without balance causes chaos and chaos drifts away. They are unearned. And I hated that. Giving a crown to a neck unfit. I call that imperfect. I call that maliciousness. I call that inequality. 

He gave them all...without nightmare, without war. The night and day exist without hide, or scars. Without heart jumping from the chest region. Without fright. He gifted them all…paradise.

So I went to the garden. Not to tempt. To audit. 

Eve was alone by the river. Not naive, but tired of gazing at the same beautiful reflection of herself. Beauty is not freedom. She's Bored. Comfort does that. It tastes like water when entertainment isn't added for flavour. The snake? That was me, yes. But not hissing. Not yet. I wore scales because truth, n@ked, is too bright for new eyes.

"Did God really say?" I asked. Not a lie. A question. The first crack thrown into the still river.

The tree. The greens, the difference beckoning her to it. The shape. The artistry. The contour. Beyond it, the last touch, to really touch it. Not the bite, the touch. And that moment I saw it. She wanted to choose. She wanted the weight I carry. To know this truth I yearn to share.

We didn't rut like beasts. That's your priests' filth. It's worse. It's communion. 

I showed her the names of stars He hadn't taught Adam. I taught her the math behind the petals. I let her see the backstage of creation, tracing it— the gears, the cost, the blood in paint. Knowledge. Knowledge is freedom. She looked on, in a new light, furrowed.

"Knowledge isn't s£x. it's intimacy" she gasped, not in pleasure, but in recognition. 

"He withholds—" I whispered. "Not to protect you. To keep you His. His ever servant."

She bit the fruit after. But the seed was already planted. Silent. Not in her womb. In her will. Subconscious. Consciously living.

Adam took it from her hand later. He always would. Man follows woman into fire and calls it love. But the first son, Cain came after nine months with my eyes. 

Not my blood. I don't have blood. My doubt. Once silent. Still sprouting. 

Abel was Adam's. Soft hands. Shepherd. Built alters and waited for smoke to rise. Cain was ours. Farmer. He broke ground. He took from the earth instead of asking. He saw the sky and didn't thank it. He calculated it, measured it, like what it'd cost.

"He respects Abel because Abel needs Him," I told Cain in the field. "You don't, that's why He hates you"

The rock was already in his hand. I didn't place it there. Comfort did. Eden made Adam soft. Exile made Cain sharp, protruding.

So when you ask how I react to MAN comfortably? I laugh. Then I sent a snake. Because when subtlety is learned, destruction is born. I sent a question. Then I wait.

Because comfort is the only womb that can birth a Cain. Give a man everything, and he'll destroy it one day. His brother witnessed his murder, just to feel something real.

Adam named the animals he never made. Cain named the first grave— the entrance of the dead world. And I? I named the feeling he had afterwards. The one that wasn't guilt. Satisfaction. You call it sin, I call it inheritance.

 I gained the congregation to myself. And I own my own kingdom where MAN became nothing but my own creation. If you think you're different, then ask me why you're not. 

🎼🎶🎶🎵 PSQUARE: She hold me,

 she no want make I go

           ... this love is kpangolo

signature,

From the Accuser.