Stale.

We are all born into this world
with a nature of innocence.
The cold wind
has not yet bitten our face.
The warm sun
has not yet heated our flesh.

We are at birth
given a fresh spirit.
Our eyes
have not yet seen sin.
Our ears
have not heard damnation.
And our tongues
have not yet spoken evil.

I turn back
whiplash
as I look to when I knew little.
And I look forward
whiplash
as I realize that I know little.

And I look inward
disgusted
as I see
my innocence has
fallen
away.

"Circumstances took it from me!"
I shout
the words choked out.
Lies lies lies.
Truer things I have never spoken
but so much is left unsaid, lies.

I want to be a hero in my own story
pure and righteous.
I want to deny my responsibility
for this loss of innocence.
I want to point fingers
give glares
without seeing that I have
fucked
up.

I opened my eyes to the sin
welcomed it lustfully.
I pointed my ears to the damnations
satisfied myself with them.
I let my mouth speak of evils
I wanted my mouth to speak evils.

I have played with darkness
far too long.
The cold wind has cut into my flesh
and my spirit is
stale.