the lost man chronicles
the daily chronicle

The Spirit of Sin

she haunts
piquing, poking
at my soul
with an ice-cold
pick, reminding me
of what i have done.

she taunts,
teasing, in ire-mode
adding to the load
i must carry on for the
of where i have gone.

she seeks me
pleading, pulling
me back in.

i succumb
resigning to temptation
and haggard sin.

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