He who pretends he doesn't sin rejoices righteously in the sins of others.
He who recounts all of his justified lies disavows your subsequent distrust. You have no ground, they do. They'll always make do.
He who blames first and foremost gets ahead with their pleadings.
He who drank the blood demands to bathe in it for purification. A victim's heart is always noble, it must refuse to see you in your worthiness.
She who gave the Sun must take the Winter.
She who brought the Rain deserves the Brimstone.
She must repent and repeat, when repentance will not rebuild. She must die.
He who pretends he doesn't know hides away his own heart in fear. She must die.
Desire becomes umbrage. She must die.
Love doesn't. Love only sustains being twisted into grief if it doesn't land wings on her.
A smothered autumn cry.
She can take the long Winter unseen. She'll not come back bringing Spring.
Pretend fervently to love the shadows or make it back before the first golden rays of tepid light. Bathe in trust rebuild. A smothered blooming cry.
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