Let's all step on bugs.

I am plummeting through an endless abyss of sugar covered friends with a bitter middle, and two long, gross, scaly feelers to detect ways to nibble away at someone's spirit leaving them bare boned, tired, and vulnerable. I fancy to lower my balancing features at the end of my legs onto their frail bodies. Their protection from a higher power is as strong as their commitment to their obedience to their baptismal covenants; weak. Therefore if I stomp on those little creatures, they will splatter and squish to the bottom of my sole, powerless yet again. I wait for redemption, for the moment they will fall into the same abyss that I was shoved into, and come to an epiphany. That they might know that those sick little feelers on top of the large heads, picking away at spirits and engaging in the devil's snare, are poison to their own spirits. They poison themselves.