by Nick Gisburne
I pull my pain apart to stare inside,
To find the filthy canker at my core.
The sacrilege I smothered never died.
It swims beneath the surface, as before.
Oblivion was never meant for me,
No comfort for a cold, malicious mind.
I am, I was, I will forever be
Infected by the sickness I designed.
Tormented, an eternity of guilt
Awaits me, without clemency or care.
Imprisoned by the chains of blood I built,
I face my fate: depravity, despair.
As God, I rule the universe alone,
And reap the bitter harvest I have sown.
