Wouldn't have thought of the truth,
If it wasn't the truth that convicts me.
After all, intuition holds the decisions.
Upon the desk, with many memories,
Still the sadness forever overwhelmed me.
Whatever the consequence, I bore them all.
The melancholy, wrought around ever since,
The days when guilt so ever eluded me.
Shone out the evident, through that looking glass.
I whimpered at my own transgression,
Oh to whom can I give up my destiny,
One that is wrought with pain and shame.
In this moment, I saw the good Book,
Providence must have played His cards well,
Never a coincident so
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