These Hidden Words

Pride

My sin is pride, the price is a crown of thorns adoring my neck, suddenly tightened at the sign of an admittance of failure.

Breathing is a privilege, I am reminded.

My ego, a fortress made of the fires of the sun, given the power to steal what I desire from the moon. The spotlight shines inside, illuminating my sin-stained soul.

I must be perfect, anything less is not worthy to associate with me.

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—𝐇𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧