Once a disassembled existance,

I was burdened within a gyre of unending thought.

Pressing through time with little resistance,

I did what I pleased, knowing naught

 

Of the troubles to come,

The consequences, the shame,

The cognizant lips, shedding disgust on my name.

 

How could they know my motivation, my cause?

By love, I was drawn into sinfulness' jaws.

The serpant looked upon his creation, and thought  it was good.

The seventh day.

 

Encompassed in the arms of lust and chained my senseless securities

I was hypnotized by his slithering charms and his sure guarantees

of fulfillment and trust and love.

 

Love is patient, love is kind,

love is a joke, love is lies

when presented as a game percieved as a prize.