I am stone that erodes to powder,
I am milk that slowly turns sour,
I am a mountain pumped with bile,
I am a child laid on the Nile.

I am half-flesh and half-sutured skin,
I am alive in a pile of dead twins,
I am the last in a bloodline of likeness,
I am a stain on all that is righteous.

I am evidence of a timeless trope,
I am a product of vainglorious hope,
I am the epitome of hubris gone wrong,
I am a shell with nothing gone.

I am the infant locked away by Pride,
I am left to bear the tide,
I am the child with her hands pinned,
And I can’t be forgiven, for I haven’t sinned.