Sunsets Create Sunrises

Sin

(A while back. Sin is dark, and about the AntiChrist and about someone who was a bad person to someone I know.)

Blistered and broken, the least of the damage—
Was it all really worth it?
Living a life on the outskirts of the ‘rough image’—
Did you think you’d escape judgment?

Cracking eyes open against the crust of drying tears—
Was this what you expected?
You paid to dance with the devil for all these years—
When was this a life you accepted?

Sun beaten skin, bakes and peals away—
Did you know this is what you’d find?
Thirsting for the fear-filled, guilty, and shamed—
Whose sickness was it that infected your mind?

Throat raw and aching, parched—
Well, have you any regrets?
Forfeiting your soul, booked and charged—
Are you wondering how you ended up here yet?

Stripped naked of all your dignity—
Where is all that pride and glory?
Finding your soul damned for all eternity—
What made you think you were so holy?

Fractured and swollen, you’re weak at the knees—
When did you start bowing?
So, fear has finally given you a sense of humility—
Or, are you wondering if God pities the cowering?

A carcass bubbling at its boiling point—
Can you hear all your friends’ warnings?
Keep crawling from this, they’ll just bend and twist the joints—
What kind of monster lets itself get cornered?

Ruptured and splitting, a skin’s layer slipping off—
Did you guess it would hurt this much?
Payment for a sin against a boy whose innocence was cost—
What price tag made you think he wasn’t payment enough?

Bones giving in, you buckle at the middle—
Ever wondered how long it takes to starve?
Frothing at the mouth, barely hitting the air before it simmers—
Do you feel anything for those you scarred?

Pleading eyes bulge within their sockets—
Do you know what you look like?
The wolf skinned alive, revealed decaying skin pockets—
Ever seen a fruit that becomes rotten turn ripe?

Flaking blood rusts on your reborn skin—
Did you even care for the ones you betrayed?
Healed, but marked with the same brand of sin—
Was this price one you were always willing to pay?

Stitching your flesh, begin to Reap the Sin that you sewed—
How many ways would you guess there are to die?
Where hide once shed, spoiling sores begin to erode—
Who made you think your little game was alright?

Stained, and bitter, you hate the spot your rooted to—
Have you ever been satisfied with where you are?
Buried in your own filth, “good deeds” that your God sifted through—
Did you really think He wouldn’t notice your flaws?

Crippled by shallow pain, your brittle bones collapse—
But you still don’t think your weak?
Blinded by memories you’d settled deep within the past—
How could you do that and not feel sick?

Tight and secure, yet seams begin their unraveling—
Why didn’t you stop the demons from entering?
Your skin shriveling as sweat beads are traveling—
Who knew soft skin was meant for splintering?

Decaying among the carnage, the “unholy herd”—
Why didn’t I think it’d be you they’d use?
Singed and coming to sunder, you’re King of the Disturbed—
Who wouldn’t pick you to shepherd the ones that abuse?

Sure, your form is withered,  misshapen, and shorn—
But, how could anyone else be so human?
You’re sheltering ghosts, you were made to house the Deformed—
How else do you suspect they become you?

Scattered remains, their skin like foam as it disintegrates—
Who knew that you’d be shaped into something we can’t reject?
The Fallen One wants you to be the first Thing that he creates—
Who knew someone would appreciate your defects?

Bones protruding and skin stretching to look like the old Master—
Did you know that you would be the End?
Flesh fitted and trimmed to a body made for his plan of Disaster—
Could you have guessed it’d be by your hand?

Skin pulled, tacked, and cleansed, you’re ready for the Show—
Are you nervous to play an actual villain?
Split Hell open, and become the enemy, no backing out of what you chose—
Wish you’d been aware of this before all of your sinning?

Torn and tainted by the sense of resentment you’ve absorbed—
Was this a future you had within your sight?
A savior to the burdened, you’re gathering the flock for your “lord”—
Still wish you’d chosen darkness over light?

Trembling from the curses, yet still inhumane to the core—
Trying to find your soul in there?
Ruined and withered by the very shadow you now form—
Have any demons to spare?

Lying and Deceiving, a false prophet to these sheep—
Do you expect in the final days to be killed?
Abandoning the most fragile of slaves, let the headlines read: “Casualties”—
Do you think He’ll forget whose blood you’ve spilled?

Your eyes have become hollowed out, vacant and possessed—
So, you’ve finally let go and come undone?
Indecent and beaten, yet you’ve transformed into one of his best—
Was damning your soul really worth what you’ve become?