I am the black-souled.
I have hidden away.
Fires burned,
walls tumbled.
In the moment of death,
I was weak.
Such a dreadful world.
I convinced myself
that I had been saved
for some great purpose.
I see how I dissemble,
how I try to justify my sin.
Hear how I lie.
I dreaded the discovery of my sin.
All my actions have been born of
cowardice.
And of curiousity.
Imagine that.
What did I imagine?
Some kind of saint,
some kind of angel,
some kind of transcendent being?
Ha.
I often dreamed you would die here,
you would fade away as if
you had hardly been here at all.
You would be wrapped into the ruins.
Once we had set out on our chosen course,
that course quickly became ordinary,
commonplace.
Oh, how easily we fall into the pathways forged by sin.
Oh, how smoothly we slither down
into Purgatory
and find a kind of
comfort
in being there.
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