Together
           Forever.
                                         True
                                               Love.
                                                                   Beautiful.
                                                                                             Caring.
                                                                                                                    Us.
No. You are my **seven deadly sins.

Sometimes the sins laugh
frolic chuckle and gasp,

whenever wrath sits there
calm and tranquil, unending care.
when Pride takes precious time,
to look up and face humility,
to remove the thin veil,
to observe another person and care.
when slender lust embraces
for another, soothing the soul
creating safe sanctions - free of sale.
when      g r e e d      gives        to       charity,
               providing,
      safe          havens,
when sloth feels the urge
to work, forging iron bars
and even making emotions and life time scars
when gluttony shares his
fries, and full course meal
when envy faces the sins - and says
‘it’s okay that lust is more curvy, I know I’m happy’

This is all a façade of course. envy said it with morose.
gluttony? He had another meal, and another meal right after that.
Mirrors reveal the real corpse. sloth daydreamed the dream.
greed? what else but the space he took?
How can we be something else. lust has lackluster snide, snark and ***
Pride? He has a deeper veil - one that escapes his avail.

Sometimes the sins want to be sinful.
And sometimes wrath wants to be wrathful.

And the farm endured
seven fields to forty acres
the days of my father
saw grass and crops rotate
his toiling obsession now spent
gave way to a bigger scale

the old house storeyed
by one and a half
the bedroom where I slept
in the shadow of an older brother

the roof of grey slate
the peak of my world
reached my childhood sky

the overgrown garden
the consequence of labours elsewhere
the sycamore tree
my view of a world outside

I hate to sleep.

The monsters and demons and sins and wraiths run rampant in my mind, and my control is lost. Control is key. Every impulse, every little tiny thought, leads me closer to madness. Slumber is madness creeping in upon me when I cannot steal myself from it.

Late to bed, and early to rise, leaves the insanity hidden until the day she dies.

The walking, the talking, the revealing of my truest thoughts occur when in slumber, and I hate it. That's why I don't sleep, that's why I'm last, always last, because I know that's when the crazy comes to play.

Lust, Gluttony, Vanity, Envy, Wrath, Greed, Sloth. All seven swirl in my veins, with a chesire smile concealing the truth of them. They swirl in all veins, they play their devil games in the night for everyone, but for me, its different. It always will be.

Seven little friends swimming in my head, begging me to become someone I am not. I'm not in love, but the *** is good. The mirror is a comrade in arms. The green of my eyes is for more than just genetics. The fat on my legs has a secret agenda. I feel the sickness of anger in my heart but it never shows. My selfish wiles are secret, but they are there, always screaming. And when boredom creeps, I let the angels weep.

I hate slumber, for all seven play their seductive little games inside the holes in my head, and I can never be free of it. I fear who I am when I sleep, for its not the face I know.

But with you, I slept.

That astounds me.