Last Text From Job Before He Blocks Me

Wilt thou wilt without your outrage?
Who would you be
without bemoaning not being
blessed just so? What calamity
to be forever betwixt failure
and success. How vexed
in your king bed with no company
but complaint. You text me
it’s pouring, your back sore,
your phone dead, the world
on fire, but are you hungerbitten?
Are mountains falling
on your head? Woe unto you?
Hold my beer and see thou
my affliction. God played chicken
with Satan. Stood idle
while I was smote with boils,
my sheep consumed by fire,
my children crushed under a house.
Verily my friends blamed me.
Yea I did lament, but so did I bring
a clean thing out of an unclean.
No longer will I refrain my tongue.
Do you not know that your life
is wind? Sealeth up your troubles
in a bag and taketh it to the pyre
as a burnt offering. Wash thy steps
with butter and let me alone.
Lay your hand on your mouth.
Don’t die before you’re full
of days. Thou shalt seek me
in the morning, but I shall not be.
Your cries have no place here.