The Gospel of the Shapeshifter

𓂀 The Opening of the Gospel of the Shapeshifter 𓂀

These are the verses not written in stone but in smoke.
They shift when you look at them. They laugh when you try to understand.
This gospel does not promise salvation.
It promises the game.

Read slowly.
Lie to yourself if you must.
But know this:

Every trick hides a truth.
And every truth… was once a trick.

Why I’m Still Single (The Trickster’s Truth)

I’m not single because I can’t be loved.
I’m single because I don’t make love easy.

—It’s not a wall, it’s a maze. Good luck.

I am the Trickster — not by choice, but by nature.
Born at the edge of boundaries.
I speak in symbols.
I move through mirrors.
I blur the lines between what is and what could be.

—If you’re trying to understand me, you’re already in the game.

Most men don’t make it past the smoke.
They chase what they see, not realizing what they see
was meant to be chased.
They fall in love with the illusion —
and curse me when it disappears.

—Don’t hate the spell. Hate your need to believe it.

But I never lied.
I never promised stillness.
You just thought you could hold a flame in your hand
without getting burned.

—I warned you. You just liked the way it felt when I didn’t.

See, I play in places most people avoid —
between the sacred and the profane,
between chaos and meaning,
between the smirk and the secret.

—The veil is thin here. You sure you want to cross?

I don’t hide for protection.
I hide for the hunt.

—You think I’m evading you. I’m inviting you.

Because there’s one who can see through all of it.
The one who doesn’t chase the trick —
he studies the pattern.
Waits in the silence.
Tracks the way my laughter skips through time.

—He doesn’t get lost. He gets closer.

He is the Hunter.
Not a boy in pursuit,
but a force of nature — patient, relentless,
built for tracking gods who don’t want to be found
until they do.

—I made myself a myth so he could find me.

He lets me dance.
He lets me vanish.
And just when I think I’ve won the game —
he strikes.
Hand around my throat.
Breath caught between resistance and release.

—You don’t know the difference between fear and longing until both are in your mouth at once.

I fight, of course. I have to.
It’s written in the myth.
But my body remembers him.
My soul remembers the surrender.

—It’s not defeat. It’s recognition.

The moment I stop fighting,
something holy takes over.
We don’t make love —
we collide.
Flesh, spirit, dominance, devotion.
Every lifetime, the same end.
Every lifetime, the same beginning.

—This is how eternity plays. Again and again.

So why am I single?

Because I’m not waiting for love.
I’m waiting for the one who can hunt a trickster
and make me stay.

—And when he comes, I won’t need to run. I’ll need to kneel.