I’m so desperate to claw back into your good graces,
But that chasm between sin and forgiveness,
The yawning pit of sleepless oblivion,
Which swallows all good intentions,
Drags me down to this vile idleness,
Flensing away my weakest efforts,
Until only bleeding hope remains,
Nurturing the seed of despair.
Maybe the resulting flower,
will be beautiful.