Condemn Me

There's a path lost in the plains. It leads nowhere It is worshipped for its ability to mislead It knows you. It knows what you have done, It has seen the inside of your skull and all of it's Locked corridors I know what I have done. The words are scrawled messily upon my lips Written on my body like a testament to disfigurement by design Sometimes they drip onto these pages, Oily like a perfume And staining as such Condemn me. I've nothing left to defend My skin is worn, and my soul charcoal My neural pathways redirected by a drunk railroad worker, And is overdue for collision As it appears destined to be. I'm only as good as the creator sees fit, My materials are recalled, Misshapen and deformed, Distorted and torn As if it were a sin, To be doctored into the wrong story, Trapped inside a dilution of morality I was born guilty