These are my sins
A hundred thousand envious thoughts a day, a minute, a second
chance taken and discarded hastily
dark alleys and toohot rooms that smell like
sex and hiding. And hushed whispered words
like ‘I don’t love you,’ and
‘Don’t call’ and I have to go.
Tangy numbness flooding the world and sharpening the colors
turning up the brightness of everyone’s halos.
And I don’t and you don’t, and they don’t
mention tomorrow the colors fade.
How do you confess to seeing color for an instant
when it only makes the world beautiful?
Even against gritty damp clotted asphalt
that broken bottle is beautiful under arc sodium lamps.
And the stranger is your friend and
if you feel strange, it’s only because
someone has turned up the brightness.
Writen while I was doing a lot of substances and going to confession a lot to talk about it. I had trouble seeing sometimes, how something that felt so good could be a sin, or a crime, when everything else was so painful.