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Sins

I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore.

By Alexia VillanuevaPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing.— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

A drama queen, baby, a fool, disapprovement

are words that hit me like chasing windmills

Friends are for life like the family we get stuck

into like heroes we look up to as though they have

become prophets.

Trust is just like a dead father's club

constructed pieces of letters that should

have never existed.

Acting as though you're the queen

of racism hitting your

tongue like the quan

Do I have the tongue of a Phantom?

Gliding through humor hearing your

rudeness cascade my shadow

like the honesty of a heart.

Your faces swarm

inside my mind, tempting my tongue

to become sharp with words

I have hate, no drama, no trust

but the pain that follows.

That has disappeared without

your accent upon my tongue

like you once owned my

invisible chains like crested

record players playing cyndi

Lauper

Your apologies are nothing

but the scum beneath me

Your actions would have caused

me drama, like lighting matches

to the flames

If your actions succeeded

like gasoline that

became the death of me.

I have freed my demons

to the water, my wings

to the ravaged air

My heart has become pure,

eyes of menaced sadness

subsided into the daydreams

of my dreams like sorting

habits into bottles marked

by the man above.

That can’t always cleanse us of our sins.

sad poetry
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