Written not twelve hours before old Ratzinger resigned.
To speak the naked truth is hard as hell –
Uniquely when you know that hell’s not there.
Awake at night, I lie in silk and stare
At walls of chiselled gold that line my cell.
Hello? Hello? I’m here at last! I yell,
It’s me, your earthly deputy! Your heir!
Nothing – just echoes of my swindled prayer:
The worst bit is – there’s no one I can tell.
This triple crown of falsehood, fraud, and guilt,
Has locked me in a lie I cannot leave;
On faith of sand is this, the house I built:
So spare a thought for one who can’t believe –
I’m compensating for a life turned bitter,
By posting useless platitudes on Twitter.