A Dear of Dainty Hell
It was never for me that I fully existed; acted.
My being was something that would get stared, yet forgotten in the face that had too much prints from my love's stares in the fading night. My breath was something that would be expected, not something that would be taken a consideration how did it go with the air of inhaled life. The hell could burn as I reached for its claws, would my Mighty One save me as I was a sinner?
Fearful. If the thin rope that would let me fly to hell was cut, then it was what was supposed to. If so, even the red string of fate wouldn't be mine, if the One mankind believed in resented me, for half of me was my sin. Would the purity of any one's being be tainted by the misery of my guilt? Then, the way I let out my words, was carved every second by Eris. The way I would end, was in the hands of Poena. For how the butterfly danced upon my limbless soul, how the stares of ruination raining my eyes. The red, ricocheted tears. My lungs, filled by vengeance to the worships I've blindly done in the name of fear.
Was my deviation engulfed by the blanket of my dreads?
To be human is to believe,
Could my untamed mind, cry out the divinity prayers in my wake? For every word and prayers I've invoked, from the bottom of my lies, my malfeasance. Like a stray, I have run across everyone just to be answered, nothing heard, no one was heard. Just so anyone to know, every inch of me was tainted by the waif of my steps. For every inch of me was accompanied by its blue, wide sea. Once, was I asked whether to exist or not? Could, my One Only lend a hand to me, from the tides? The watered down carnation, or the needle inside of my brain. Or the target they placed on my forehead. Or was it I who did?
Could I be a believer? All the words I've lied soon after, all the kaleidoscope rays I've cursed, all the lives He had given me, what I've thrown?
