For your consideration, an anthology of sin. Perhaps I've always had a panache for self destruction, but allow me this beautiful little lie. I hope you don't hold it against me, but I've.... they've always kept me warm. I can hardly breathe without them anymore. There are so many of them now. A writer sells a little bit of truth with a lot of lies. And a sad little boy wears them like a suit of armor. Look how the metal glistens in the light.
The light that constantly strips me and beats me into abnegation. I lay there lost and naked. My head pounds. It plays a tune on the infernal beating. Like an old marching ditty. I pull myself up. The floor is cold. However the sun has made it rather clear that I'll not be getting out of this one. Alas, what do I do now. A good Irish boy is taught to go to confession. However does it count if you've forgotten where you placed the truth?
Heh, well here I go. forgive me father for I have sinned.
I've cheat lied, and stolen, whenever it was expedient.
I've drank too much, and made a whore of myself, and reveled in it.
So I sit here listening to the rain crack in the sky, please give me clouds today.
I can have a little more peace of mind with clouds.
But you don't forgive me do you? You know even my misdeeds are exaggerations, and lies.
A real heartfelt poetic license used only to induce enough time for me to run.
Ah but father, can I run! I can run for hours, for days, for weeks.
And I can run my mouth off, a million lyrical lies. Sounding beautiful rolling on a liars tongue.
And now of course. You want to tell me I don't understand the spirit of the whole confession thing. I'm just indicting myself deeper with my pact. All my little nothings, my lies, and pillow talk. Did you know that all these things keep me warm at night. The memories of a dozen fucks. The cries of anguish from all the souls that suffer. Here I stand, thinking I wanted to atone for my sins. No my dear I am here to boast of them.
Listen up Father because I'm not sure I'll always be as kind. I hope you know you're not getting out of here alive. You see, it is with a flash of rabid madness that I feel my bones ready to walk a few dozen more miles. I feel my tongue ready to spin pages more of lies, and I hope that all the devils in hell and the angels in heaven begin to fear my arrival. Between Lancelot and Lucifer so to speak. So get ready for the next slide in a real horrorshow scene of decadence. Lock you doors. Lock up you daughters and get ready to experience something wicled. Oh and.....
Forgive me father, because you have sinned....................
