No Absolution

As the white smoke cleared, the last gun echoes die with a muffled bellow. My vitality ebbing away with every inching step. Consumed by a barren guilt, laying waste to a steadily depleting soul. In this moment my heart knows not the name of God. Thus i open a new chapter of sullen debauchery, wading in the blood of my adopted adversaries, gorging on the bread of their sons, writhing in the loins of their daughters. It is business as usual. I am your sin. You will be my crucifixion.

I am the surgical sword of lords. I've  struck again in the name of righteousness, declaring deeds of promised prosperity and peace while leaving desolation that gushes out sorrow, filling the vessels of greed like the seeping wound of a once proud beast, collecting in a chalice, to quench the undying thirst of tyranny. The word of truth and consequence will come to convict me. Until such a trial, I am your sin. You will be my crucifixion.

Indifference is my last resort, the only comfort amid tumultuous torrents of guilty remorse, lashing at my back like a burning whip. I confront humanity and pit my own humanity against it. Ceaselessly. A forced intercourse between good and evil, the immortal fall perpetuated with every slash of my blade, every thrust from my loins, every corrupt calculation my mind toils to bear. I lay bare, in mortal sin, pending immortal crucifixion...