Poetry and writing

Sin

Rotten children do not deserve heaven. There is no god for you.

Today I sit next to my aunt as she mutters these words into my ears. These words ring throughout my head as I wait for her to leave. These words ring through my head as I kneel at the foot of my bed.

There is no god that can ever cleanse me of this sin. I am sorry, I am sorry. This may be me at my finest.

I have found effortless comfort in hiding, and I will do so until I am clean of this.