Have you seen my ring?
Its old now, and worn out
Its seen fights, and tears
Through the years, through every outcome
It sat right between my pinky and my thumb
Not the finger I used to point out what was going wrong
Or the one I used to say "I never loved you either"
It was on the next one, over.
I wore it proudly, it brought me a sense of worth
Now that its missing i'll move heaven and earth to find it
My hand is confused
That finger forever internally bruised
From the force of losing it so quickly
It thickly layered scarring on my heart
It is tarring me apart
I would give anything to find my missing ring

The gleaming moonshine on your hair,
fragmented star splitters in your eye,
your smile repainting supernova's glare
appoint you the ruler of my sky.

I squat down
at the slab
and unscrew chemicals.

Mixtures made
for finger paints.

**** cinders
into lung
to get high on polish.

Adhesion
base, topcoat,
both sandwich neon pink.

I have not lit
one sweet cigarette
in half a year, and I've lost
forty pounds in three months.

It's not I'm
casting light
of my disapproval

on others
for either thing.

My grandpa
got cancer
at nicotine's altar

and

my weight bore
too heavy
on my brittle body

so

I figured
what the ****.

My faith returns
in my own purpose
as I am true to failures
and sworn to improvements.

Now, all, I ask of you,
concerning the modern
christian interpretation
of the seven deadly sins,
which one has
haunted you?

Which

one is most
important
an artist overcome?