when we come into being
we are given very few Instructions
we are given a name, a faith a blade
but never told how it is we need to fend for our souls
to the eternal quest of finding a surface 
that reflects you faithfully 
that echoes the truths of our state
is all there is to being, to prove that we do?
is it with the hope that we might make another's existence that much more tolerable? 
is life supposed to be tolerated?
is there power in escape? 
to take your pen
write the words you've found in your soul
share your precious gilded letters 
with the world
and hope they kind find solace
in like-minded blood-soaked letters
perhaps I will serve as a cautionary tale
and perhaps that is enough
perhaps wanting more than what is offered
is a sin in and of itself? 
but perhaps the world would not have come into being without the sinners
those who dare to ask for more
to take