Outside of the Confession Booth

she tries to hide

her damaged pride

her damning acts of impure actions

piling up overextending the horizon

beneath dried eyes painted to disguise

a soul emotionless

the running mounds of mascara

become a picture-perfect raccoon-like image

burnt in the mind like a villain mask

she wears to portray an innocence

she will never again have

there will be no quarter to slide

into the pony ride,

once outside of the confession booth

dirty hands cannot be washed clean

of their guilt

your God cannot rewind actions

she thinks to hide and pretend

will cancel the validi...

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