Forgive me, Lord.
For I am so weak.
I resigned to myself,
and acquitted from my goals.
I feel so weak,
I can't bear to look at myself
straight in the mirror--
for that is the sorry price
I've paid for my
crimes.
The mirror taunts me,
The mirror also gloats.
She stares at me, through that mirror,
her belly button winking at me like her eyes
and they chide me for being so
vulnerable to myself.
I've lost,
to my ignorance,
and lost,
to my illusory, feigned, materialistic sham of happiness--
a sham that can only span for...
(what? three hours?)
Until it's done again.
And now my belly just flops
-relentlessly cascading-
deviously overflowing with greed
at the edges of my pants,
and seethes of revenge
because
"I have NOT treated it
like the temple it feels it is."
(Corinthians spews
of the laws I should have abided by;
I should have sworn my oath at the time.)
Why did I lose You,
amidst all this?