Wages of Sin

The wages of sin
is death
and I can't get
paid. So

I sit on the
12 steps
that lead to

an unused door
of the church
that is called
The Stew Pot

by the tramps
that eat and use
there daily

and I cop
and try and see
if sin has


a 501k plan,
maybe a little
something for
the future.

We are all children
of something
greater, we all

sleep and dream
at night as if
we were human,

but we know
we are not.
We are reminded

daily. Ignored
by the others,
shunned and hated.

I wouldn't even
get laid if it weren't
for codependant
cuties who

want the memories
of thier fathers
to hate them too.

I would die
on a cross for
them all if
I weren't so afraid

so its soup lines
and mentally unstable
chicks and the long
slow death of addiction

for now.