Forgive me, for I have sinned.

Self-denial, I have a ton. As I strangle my sinful thoughts they bleed through every pore and poison my blood.

And so, I fall. As I run, I slip. As I deny, I end up reveling.

A pauper in purity, I have luxuries, many I dare say. Most in the intangible form of regret. Sometimes, the memory of a guilty pleasure.

Shall I separate guilt from pleasure as what is done is forever achieved? Why mar bliss-touched memories?

For such thoughts, I confess.