Equilibrium

Cry
But, _soft,
This autogenous iniquity-
_{the cacophony of sin
and the
acromonies inside}-
It bites and
Tears
But, _soft.
Hush.

Your antiquated conduct
shall find no place
In this world,
No rest inside these bounds.

Go on then,
Cry your heart to pieces-

_hush-

and lacerate your soul.
Cry,
But _soft.
Soft, to the degree of
Bitterness,
Incising upon that inner you,
Soft.

That softness with which
Your mortal soul now burns,
Twisted.
Diseased.
Infected,
Dirtied with that _softness,
The

Tender-hearted pain of empathy,
Of guilt,
_{of ineptitude.
soft and hush
As it reverberates through your
soul,
As you feel your failings
each claiming a piece of you
with more rapidity than
the last.}

Soft.
Let the tears come-
_{so soft so soft}-
and burn an antiquated brand,
deep into your soul.
Soft,
As the empathetic scars
Breed lace into your heart.
Soft,
For whatever has been done-
is done-
_{no man controls the past so let it
lie}-
Now let it lie,
Be it burning with the
Acrimonious rot of
guilt,
Or with the forgiveness of
Justification,

Each of and to itself
Autogenous,
With every trace of it's own
Existence.