I’m a sinner 

For I have mistaken my fortune for that of a saint 

The wicked hath thought the wicked could be touched tenderly 

The wicked believed thou could be shown the love that one who hasn’t seen the darkness  breach could 

The wicked should’ve guessed that calamity lingers like the after dinner cigarette smoke expelling from your breath 

For saints are more frugal to come by as they bask in the midst of dawn 

But us sinners have become a commodity in this world of fabrication 

As to wear your damnation on your sleeve is to salute your trials and tribulations as you’re broken down further by the socialism at hand 

It is easy to be a saint 

It is an art form to be a sinner 

-Tales of a Sinner 

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