These lines in my skin represent my sin and though there are many I still call myself a christian. How many are to many? And who decides whether I am worthy of redemption? I am dark and gifted with an unencumbered mind, locked in my skull, floating in time. I age and reminisce on yesterday, but when I think of tomorrow all optimism flows away. I am whomever I choose. A bum or a lover a thief or a muse, and if you read my sentences backwards they will mean nothing at all. Just words upon words no feeling involved. I want to be the best that I could have ever been, but I cant beat the rest if I don't know where to begin. So today I guess ill start with a word on a page. A little food for my thought a bit of kerosene for my flame.