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

How many times can one hope to be saved,
After all the descents to the depraved?
How many times succumbed to sinful thought?
How often losing the battles he fought?

How often can he expect salvation,
When choice after choice is to damnation?
How many times can he ignore his guilt,
Atop the foundation of lies he built?

How many chances to apologize?
How much wrong can one man trivialize?
How many times can he find excuses,
For turning others to his own uses?

If he ignores needing introspection,
How can this man still expect redemption?
If one just loved him he knows that he would—
Being loved is all he needs to be good.