There is a better way
the jewels of wisdom locked in my chest cavity
buried in ignorance, arrogance, not meant to see the light of day
these flowers meant to grow with my decay
and open their fist over my grave
how long can I hold onto the murky morality
whose ink is poisonous, to whom I am a slave
to give up, let all hope bleed out of me
and offer no hope I can be saved

This is the quandary with redemption
you don't get to martyr yourself for one ultimate act
sacrifice at your convenience, foregoing temptation
the receipt of your past forever scrawled on your back
you can't merely decide it's all over now, at your whim
some of us have such horrible portraits waiting, our necks snap with whiplash
some have no fear of their inner nature, peering long and grim

The truth is you will forever be remembered that way by those who choose to see you as such
while you can grow and regress in the ages to come, the truth is exerting discipline amounts to much
fear excuses the rationale to cause pain, never does it explain how to apologize for its damning touch
I know that I can train and restore some of my forgone humanity, I just need to find the better man in me  
a moral beauty or amoral beastly belayed to a bucket in the inkwell of true intentions
convenience of conscience counts on the weight of the scales that measures redemption
what black spot your heart beats by, dichotomous before the open iris of forgiveness' sigh
is truly an omen, no omission from this misery, come and commiserate with me in Second Chance's Cemetery
you must want for yourself and nobody else to see the sins on your portrait clear, if this road follows hope then it cannot be led by fear
no resurrection, no intersection, letting go is a blind fall on trust
once free to be yourself and know yourself, you can become who you must.