Modern Sins

i. Gluttony She hides Before the hardest hit Knocks her down. She makes sure They'll never find her Amid crumbling debris, Rusting iron, Rotting walls That smell of spray paint And make her sick. But not sicker Than her hand-rolled friends. She breaks cheap stilettos And tears her last good dress As she stumbles into the grotto, The hellhole she's cornered in, To risk one last breath (And it may very well be her last; She risks it with every drag) On a stale Dry Companion. ii. Lust He's cancelled every call That hasn't been from her. He's rejected every gift That hasn't touched her hands. He's ready to go deaf If every song reminds him like this. He's unplugged every bulb and screen Because he can't stand to look at a face That isn't hers. He hasn't stepped out of the house Since last week. If the pavement doesn't deserve to be kissed Since it hasn't met her feet, It cannot be walked on by him. He sits on the ground Because every piece of furniture Has been graced by her body. He sleeps in the kitchen Because his bed still smells of her. He's cursed every tear that's fallen Because they must glide down the cheeks That she caressed Only 184 hours ago. He's been counting. iii. Sloth He used to be the greatest Of them all. He would stand at his podium And deliver the words That would hypnotize them all. His followers were the ones With gold watches and cufflinks, Slinky dresses and shoes Worth more than he was. His lovers were liquid (best served with elegant meats but preferred by him straight from the bottle) And shut inside wood That smelled of cork and grapes. The made-up statues and stuffed suits Loved him for his words, However slurred they became Overtime. His cellar-dwelling sweethearts Slowed his success, Though he paid little notice. He began waking less And forgetting his speech. The public forgot about their hero And found other synthetic saviors. Their hero Seeped down to nothing But a motionless cavity, Lying in his own nonsense And empty bottles. iv. Wrath She was supposed to graduate At the top of her class. Full ride all four years, A beautiful mind That matched her body. A slip of the tongue Was all it took to tear her apart. She loaded the barrel And jammed it against her head; She relished the feeling Of cold metal biting her skin. The swarm had led her to believe That it was all she deserved To be a mess. The swarm had led her To slowly lose herself In what she'd begun to believe. It was the shot heard round the world That nobody seemed to listen to. v. Pride The Queen looks at her reflection. Pouting lips, Eyes outlined so thickly She looks like she's lost sleep For days, Foundation powdered on (she had to steal it from her mother; she dares not tell anybody) Until it cakes her skin, A taut, flat stomach That she's only made that way By sucking in, A backside she's pulled her skirt tight over, And breasts to match With a tissue-paper tee. The Queen knows she beautiful Because her subjects say so. Because television says so. Because the magazine She just has to work for some day Tells her that what she's made herself into Is the epitome of sex. She knows not that she's built herself up On a pedestal of sand. vi. Greed He's sprawled on the couch; Women around him, Pockets and wallets thick with money, Expensive, strong drinks Littering the table before him. Heavy bass Thumps around the room, Making it almost shake And stabbing into his subconscious That this isn't right. He has an alimony to pay And is tossing the money At clubs and bars. He has a wife— Had a wife. Shaking away the thought, He palms the girl closest to him. He can forget. He can. …He can. vii. Envy Her stare is not green, Nor are her feelings As she sees every single thing Wrong with her Highlighted by passing posters, Adverts, And mindless vomit From the mouth of every talking head Who exalts herself above the rest. No, her stare is blank. She sees But does not watch. She hears, But does not listen. She resolves not to drown In the mindless sea Of all that is commercial. She knows That her faults are not faults. They are imperfections That make her who she is. She doesn't need the latest fix To love herself, Or find somebody To love her as well. Doesn’t she?