I
there's this constant itch under my skin that i cant quit
the veins under the skin of my pale wrists are a visual representation of myself
the darker ones a retelling of all the times ive been so apathetic
of all the sins ive committed
of all the selfish prayers ive cried
of all the emotional hecatombs ive caused within and upon
of all the times ive indulged into tendencies
so covetous
so blasphemous
so barbarous
so vengeful
the fact that i can see them turn dark [its lento]
carrying the weight of my immoral virtues that forbid my hands from raising towards the holy deity
they're divine
DARLING WOULD YOU FALL IN LOVE WITH DIONYSUS?
the other times i see the bright red capillaries
they're beautiful for they look so pure and clean
perhaps a visual representation of all the times ive been righteous
of my philanthropic madness
of all the times ive set every interstice of my skin on fire [although you call me a incompetent chaperon of your pretty face]
for all the times ive forgiven
for all the times i cursed myself for the flagrant sins i could so easily count
they carry the weight of my translucent conscience of altruism that ive so generously grown under my skull
funny i call it a weight nonetheless
II
there's this itch at the apex of my neck
perhaps all the words unsaid
all the screams sealed in
and clogged by the biles of unshed tears are now restless
III
the worst part though
i cant satify this itch
quite hellish how
ive grown accustomed to this itch
Oh what madness
that im aggrandizing this itch
DARLING CAN YOU TELL YOUR SINS?
