A Sunday Confession

I always try to be polite,

To hold the door and do what’s right,

All this but a masquerade,

For what goes on inside my brain.

Thoughts acted on would guarantee,

Crimes far worse than hypocrisy,

Superficial or filled with rage,

Not appropriate for one my age.

And for being so juvenile,

My thoughts should probably go on trial,

No other sentence serves me so well,

To be condemned to rot in hell.



Napowrimo Entry #8

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