If this Color of Damnation ever Fades


The me that pokes
at these remnants of bruises-
those bruises that seem so beautiful
to those untempted,
untainted by Luce’s
narrow mind-
is much like the Apple,
only not for temptation before bruising
(which is nothing more than damnation in color)
or bruising before temptation
for I am easily touched, easily tempted,
easily bruised.

My fingers refuse to take count
the number of bruises,
the amount of pleasure
I receive from the pain-
nature’s sweet temptation.

It still slithers around me,
until the last of the blue-black sensation
returns to flesh,
until the last ounce of pain
leaves this body
pure of sin and of knowledge-
which can never be.

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