Piety


In daylight, everything's always too clear, too defined. I am laid bare.

I don't need to be spotlighted. I know what I am. Soiled, defiled and wrong. I know I should be ashamed; the shrill nagging voice in my head tells me so.

I know what people would think if they looked hard enough and saw what crawls underneath my skin.

So, in daylight, I ignore and I repress and feel my heart slowly rotting behind my ribs. Inside my head, the grating voice never ceases its taunting.

I pretend not to listen.

There is nothing going on.




In the dark, his kisses taste like redemption, his touch draws cries of exaltation from deep within my throat. We ignore the voices in our heads. Their judgement is useless when this feels so right.

Nothing can compare to him, a perfected version of myself. His eyes drag the wrong right out of me, destroy me and let me be reborn. This isn't sinful anymore as every thread of my existence wills it to never end.

He's not a mirror to me at night, it's too dark to see at all. This isn't wrong. In the end, we all look the same with the lights out.



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