sin amber color stains pool onto stone paved floors a foot above secret dungeons where skeletons lie in wait to come to life and start with blank eyesockets at whoever dares intrude upon their lair. A gold coin flips in the air and is caught my a confident hand. The shot is a close up, so you can see the nail beds, and little hairs that start from the wrist. Candy cane striped wall paper tastes like peppermint and now I feel guilty that I’ve licked it. Awash with the forgiveness that could be, if I could only forgive myself. This sin, shadowcloud of regret and despair. An action I’ve done wrong, out of malice or accident. Words said in the heat of anger and high-wire-balancing-act emotion. The come down. I’m sorry about it now. Sin and sinners, a word that makes sense in a context of a framework of morality, and what we believe that morality to be. Like Nietschze said, it is nearly impossible to separate any sort of sense of morality we have in this culture, in this society, it is nearly impossible to completely disassociate it from the weak translations of what Christianity is understood to be. Dipping my hand in the golden tin, miniature pool of holy water. Entering the church of my childhood. Confession is a shoebox. Terrifying concept.

Author: Roe

she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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