It owns you.
Play pretend until your last breath,
but you’ll forever be it’s slave.
One sin, two sins, three sins four,
soon, you won’t feel,
you’ll just want more.
Five sins, six sins, seven then eight,
try to pay it off,
it will be too late.
Nine sins, ten sins, and on it goes,
before you can pay it off,
you’ll be someone you don’t know.
It bites, it gnaws,
it’s the cracking jaw,
it reminds you with every chew,
of the reality of you.
The bite that can’t be digested,
by your own hand molested.
I’m amazed (and laugh inside) when people take the wrong things they do so lightly, not in mock or jeer, but in pity for the ignorance of what they will inevitably be indebted to. That stuff doesn’t just go away. Try as you may to pretend your conscience is switched off and it doesn’t bother you, deep within, it haunts and chips away at you until it manifests in other ailments.
Sometimes it takes time, but it lurks and waits for the opportune moment to collect and when it comes knocking, there’ll be nothing you can do but admit your folly, your arrogance and ignorance.
Sin is glorified, like one can raise their head in pride for the shit they do, for the hurt they cause and parade themselves as being honest, bludgeoning the word, the meaning, bastardising it and uprooting it from it’s intended purpose.
‘At least I’m honest’, they mantra like being filthy, being vile and being loaded with immorality is pardoned by a simple admittance. Shame? What shame? Shame is ridiculed to the derelict corner of uncool. It’s cool to be a piece of shit these days and wear that like a badge of honour.
You may hear no evil, you may see no evil, as you’ve shifted the metrics of measuring evil, but you’ll feel it all, eventually every last bit of it.