The Horrors of Sin

Waking up, trapped inside this black reality,
with the horrid sins corroding my soul.
The perception of hope destroyed by chaos and tyranny;
the heart of obsidian, black as coal.

A single, cold sin lying across my chest,
heavy as lead and burning in pain now.
I ask for forgiveness yet it stays tainted at best;
in the end I wonder "God, where art thou?"

Sometimes the crime haunts so much I scream,
and even when my lungs burst, the taunting remains.
No amount of pain distracts this, with me in hell I dream;
nothing becomes of this so all left is my blood stained.

I lash out punches at the stone wall with my fists,
thinking only of myself when my knuckles bleed of anger.
After I have some crazy notion that cutting my wrists,
will help flood out his crime and send the reaper, death's angel.

I watch the crimson blood gush from my veins,
wishing that black cold sin would go away;
in a world where a heart of darkness and bad deeds reign
and all hope of a truly happy life is slain.

It seems no matter what I do,
no amount of blood, repence, nor pain
shall ever remove the tainting crimes askew;
I shall lurk in these horrors of sin.