Balance of Sins

A tormented-self piece exploring word play and the human psyche.

The weary and the mindlessness
The dulling of the soul
The stabbing fingers ripping through
The thin skin of control

Answered only by the dark
The question still remains

The gasping lungs and gaping eyes
The numbing of the mind
Bombarded by visions, sight unseen
It’s to the truth that I remain blind

Answered only by the dark
The question still remains

Failing breaths with increasing strength
Entomb the silence of the choir
Some sins, no matter how hard you pray
Cannot be cleansed by any fire

Answered only in the dark