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Confronted by the crux of the matter,
The center, the axis,
Upon which all my sins spin
About me
Below
And above.
Sphere Confining.
Chewing on the bittersweet
Taste of insecurity -
My excuse and also my taste of hell -
In a landslide of purpose
(such-and-such to do; to be whatever)
I am continually felled by my own lusts.
To three I pay homage;
This unholy triad has incited my flesh,
Has blinded my eyes,
I have sacrificed to satiate my pride,
And for what?
Even bowing down to
My secret gods,
My idols-in-waiting.
The downslide continual,
Yet I flow upwards, contrary
To all that I wish to do.
I suffer without Him,
Nevertheless, I claw against
Him,
Much to my own demise.
Nay, all to my demise.
Some say to wait for the crowns.
Too often I am convinced:
There will not be
A single jewel saved
For a sinner such as I.