EDIT 12/1/12: I changed the rating on this piece. 1, I think that if you consider the subject material that's brought us all together in the first place, there isn't anything in this poem that would be considered offensive. 2, let's just say I'm curious about something and leave it at that. ;) Apart from that, the piece is untouched, but if you think the subject material requires an M rating, message me and I'll change it back.

Alright, so enjoy! Love, TM

Word to the wise: bad Isaac runs at 4AM do terrible things to a person. Like make you write angry poetry when Max's Head and Pinkie Eye are really the only things carrying you through the Cathedral. And you have Spirit of the Night, but it's really not doing anything to help you because you got a Speed Down pill on the first floor and all forms of Speed Up avoided you like the plague thereafter.

Nothing like rage on the troll engine to make you wanna write poetry, though. :D Enjoy!

LAMENT OF THE ANGEL

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

Though...for what, I'm not yet sure.

I feel the stings of punishment, and regret all that I've done.

But what have I done, my Lord?

What deserves this harsh destruction?

Wrath's fiery rage burns against my flesh.

Lust is inescapable; she chases me down and drags me to the ground.

Sloth is poisonous, and I feel the maggots chewing at what's left of me.

Envy hides in every corner, taunting and teasing from the shadows.

Gluttony consumes me, Pride splits me in two

And as I pray for help and salvation, Greed overtakes me.

I've never accepted any of them.

I battle them every day,

But they never win. So what have I done?

I have ascended, my Lord.

I have come to your Cathedral.

But this home is a scam.

The stained glass windows shine

With a bastardization of Heaven's true light.

Angels roam the halls, but ones that cry out in the night.

Tears of blood. And torture. And pain.

And so I lie here alone.

Left to die.

To be raped by these monsters that call themselves angels.

And never to know what the true Cathedral looks like.

My mother was a funny woman, God.

She married a man named Abraham,

So she birthed a son named Isaac.

Clever.

But in this moment, my Lord, I realize something.

I am beyond my given name.

I am not just Isaac.

I am Cain. I am Judas. I am Eve and Samson.

I am the destroyer, the traitor. I am the light, but also the dark.

I am beyond the sacrificial lamb.

I may not have much.

A few pills, a dice, a book, and the head of my dog to compliment the tail of my cat.

But what I do have is the fire, whether they be from hell or somewhere worse.

Drive. Adrenaline. Force. Willpower.

I am not a lamb, my Lord.

And if I have to kill myself to escape this Cathedral,

This damnation of glass and marble that harbors the tortured angels...

Then by God, I'll do it.