Sin?

I'm I a sinner; a product of love

Scars of mutilation

Is it a crime?

Should I be more worried?

I'm I a loser, selfishly devoted to fictional acts

Lack of conversation

Is this existence?

Should I bother to change?

Will God care?

Will I draft towards hell

Is there a way to smell the roses without the blood of being cut?

Should I take notice more often?

Is it too late?

I watch a child crossing

Hand clutching her mothers

Skipping along

Tugging her mother’s sleeve

As she falls behind

Further away from my line of vision they go

Perfect substitution

Perfection buried within innocence

Hidden beneath sin

Bred to confusion

Molded new, different

Filled with inspiration

Wait till she grows older.

Should I be more worried?

Is it too late?