Sin is Always Fun at First

Dramatic outings carry themselves from the lake stumbling. Confessions of a hanged man: Sin is always fun at first. You're left thinking of the past; left wondering whether you are the shining example of goodness you once thought. All choices have come together and everyone keeps saying, "You must be so excited." You can only reply with a vague shrug. Maybe I've gone too far? Maybe it's never been the gold rush but the oil boon. Maybe I've got a pocket full of cash long since turned to ashes. No, they do have value, these rings cast of precious metal pawned as spent fossil fuel. Though these pollutants poured into my soul may be causing the smog, that bright pink sunset leaves me with the hope that the pollution may be a benefit. The back and forth of a guilty conscience will produce some solace, some content. Content with leaving for a while, you know those loving creatures leaving marks on your memory will be here when you return. A dream informs you of what will be when it won't be and how things might be. A nightmare seems to be what was and all that may be if things weren't. A waking moment gives clarity to life; telling you there is pain with your existence. That aching back lets you know you've arrived. From the world of nothing but wisps of smoke to the world of tactility and touch. Facility is rough; for that which allows the ease of use can often create the loss of meaning. It's been such a free flow run for now that the truth has been overcome by the need-to-know. Agency is tough; for that which allows for use of power can often create a nameless victim. Without knowing who wronged who there is a loss of order. You've forgotten why your emotions are playing tricks on you.