To sin enough, is to sin forever,
shine dull nor pure,
but fear!, fear the end.
Does it end after night,
or at the end of the day!
as your heart beats silent,
while you drink and you play.
No salt in its wounds,
nor painless endeavours,
but a feeling, so sure.
God is a clue,
neither here with the there,
it’s a word like a curse,
more effective when shared.
To breathe is to love,
yourself, is to try.
only try!
belong like the true,
the cursed and the mad,
the only, the few.
It’s simple like clay,
manifested as such,
formed into works,
of fiction, of lust.
To not understand,
the wrath of the gods,
is to choose to exist,
with the only,
the strong.