When the world sat my down in a dimly lit room And told me to confess, I picked up a molbro, stroke a match; Taking a drag, and holding my breath, I pondered where I first digressed.
But what is a confession? An acknowledgement on the truth? And as in inhaled I said where there’s smoke there is fire, And I began to incinerate in my youth.
What I have to say The world does not want to hear; Because what I’ve done and what has been done Repeal empathy and insights fear.
Forgive me world for I have sinned, I have manipulated, mutilated and entertained the demons within. But when the people who place these creatures inside do not help you get them out, The chances of you being free grow ever dim.
And what exactly does confessing all this do? How does one lift a weight off their shoulder when their shoulder is the weight? How does one move on from their past, By simply being forced to narrate.