A sin for a gram of salt.
2 sins for a cup of rice.
I stand with empty pockets
in a shop where all tongues lie,
in a shop where all hands strangle,
in a shop where lust fills eyes.

he melted the bar of gold
and poured it into a cast.
A cast in the shape of a heart.

I have sinned again
and all I have is gold.
Gold,
and no heart.

I fought.
Every second of my life
Etched in pain.
I faced it.
I won.
It changed me.
I learned.

I unlearned the so-called truths,
Every sacred teaching
Of life.
And relearned it myself—
From the best teacher:
Life.

She taught me all.
My favorite woman.
Whether pain or pleasure,
I loved her just the same.
She whispered secrets
Of existence, society, and everything in between.

Many times, I nearly died.
But I survived.

Then came sin—
My chosen curriculum.

I built my deadliest sins
And wore them like armor:
My vanity rivals even God's.
I cannot fail. It's impossible!

My greed keeps me sharp,
Focused, burning.
I want what I want.

My lust—
Not only for ***,
But for victory.
To see this world
Brought to its knees.

A cosmic hunger.

My gluttony?
It drives me to take on
More than I should—
And still, I surpass.

My apathy—
That cold, uncaring monster—
Is my shield.
A necessary evil.

Everything else is obsolete.
Even virtue.

If you plan to survive in this world:
Abandon all virtues.
There is no God above.

You are God.
We are Gods.

Do not let the devil of *******
Use society's illusion of order
To chain your will
And drain your soul.

You are a creature of change.
Change is chaos.
Chaos is life.
Life is God.
God is me.
I am you.
You are us.

Heed this message:
Survival is not the goal.
Possession is not the goal.
Happiness is not the goal.

Chaos is.

The only permanent truth
Is impermanence.

So go.
Unleash the world.
Restore it to its natural order—
CHAOS!

You finally got it.
The attention of those,
who never deserved yours.

It only cost you
a piece of your soul,
a shard of your heart,
and your nose.

Now the ones,
who will need you the most
will always wonder
if they belong
and if maybe
they should get one just like yours.

In high-tech sweatshirts

the joggers are running trails --


of expensive scents.

I feel most beautiful when my hair is haphazardly thrown into a French barrette, my pajamas are loose, and my scented lotion on.

I couldn't tell how much of my usual actions tonight of quickly twisting my hair, or picking which scent to wear, were influenced by my love for me or you.

I gently pulled the frontmost curls from the barrette and clasped on a delicate necklace in my vanity mirror. I selected the small, expensive bottle from my collection to melt into my hands, wrists, and clavicles.

I would never leave the house without this evening routine, and even though we're only crossing the street, I indulge in my reflection. It's the most I've loved myself all week.

I don't look to see if the lashes are perfectly parted, if the hair is tamed, if anything. I just take in my sights and scents,

and I secretly hope you do too.