You may not have been birthed in the soil,
and granted,
you will not blossom
when spring melts winters wake
but inside of you
grows a thousand gardens
full of exploding stars.
You are of the earth
and your ashes
have been constructed with stardust,
and set free with the wind.
So you may not have a pretty face,
and your body may hold stories
of too many moonless nights alone.
But if you reach inside,
you will find a forest
for a ribcage
and a restless ocean heart.
So don't ever let anyone tell you
you are nothing.
You are a galaxy
holding a million different planets,
and my dear,
that is not nothing.

I am the embodiment of your sins.

I am your greed, gold in color and always asking for more.

I am your lust, swirling in amber with a slip of my tongue upon your flesh.

I am your wrath, rolling in a fit of redden anger.

I am your sloth, lounged in white, sleeping in between your sheets.

I am your gluttony, always craving more, more, more...

I am your pride, held purple in my state of royalty.

And

I am your envy, green with what never can fully be mine.

I am your sins. Full bodied. Anointed.

You clung on.
You never did anything, a court room would concur.
Your Misses was bound ***** and gagged though, it happened.  
A sinking ship her mind lost to insanity. Each night she loses skin.
It’s none off your back, you need to leave her, there’s time to get your **** together.
You can be with her again someday, leave her heal.
There are people who deal with that.

Insanity rules from a distance.  
Tá do lá a thagann a chuisle mo chraoí