Sin Eater

That last poem counts, dammit.

Five days on, and I have another entry. So much for my "I'll write every day" promise. Well screw me, I don't have to listen to that guy, I'll post when I damn well please.

However, I shall amend my promise. I shall submit four (FOUR/4/2+2) things every week. Good or bad. I can't get better if I don't write something, after all.

So, here it is, Sin Eaters (for lack of a better tittle, I've never been good at tittles). I keep looking at it, and keep thinking it's not finished, but I can't bring myself to write anything more. Every time I write something, it is crap. The mojo of this piece ended where it ended, I'm afraid.

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Twenty types of sin
Follow me around

Stare at me with their mirror eyes
They hide behind busy corners
and plot with busy minds

Their bodies are glutted with ages
Dedicated to their unasked worship

Given or taken

Every time you look upon them
Their skin of roughshod feathers
Beckons and mocks
With equal enthusiasm