Sin

You were lust and greed, the seven. My lips are painted in the sins that I committed for you, my nails stained in the earth that I crawl and my eyes are dry. There are words that sprout like branches from me and the thorns squeeze the bones in my body. Of my laments, even the moon knows them. And I haven’t paid my crimes, my sentence is your name and the cross is your existence.

If there is a time for drama and desolation, it is when I have raised the white flag and closed the door of us. That is where you have emerged victorious in your blindness and my excuses.

T.A.