I can’t help but be a child of Cain My hands too ****** to be holy Too stained to be washed clean
I was once told that we are our own thoughts and actions So does that make me a ****** for being a bad person? Is that all I’ll ever be?
The sin is strong in me It’s the sin of not getting better Of continuing the hurt Past down, man upon man, wife upon husband, parent upon child, stranger upon stranger Blood you keep coughing back up That won’t leave your body
We touch so many people in our lives But how many do we scar? It’s human nature to both love and to maul Especially on those close to us Especially when we aren’t aware we’re even doing it
Now, I don’t believe in God This poem isn’t religious in the slightest But if I met him I would ask Is Hell the last destination? Can we ever get better? Can our hands learn to be tender and to hold instead of trying to choke one another? Is there still salvation for us, for people like me?
I don’t know what his answer would be And I don’t think I’d want to find out