On My Sleeve
Written by Achilles
These aren't tattoos,
their memories of pain.
Scars to remind me,
that I've been cursed.
Not by something evil,
but by my own demons.
There's consequences,
but my sins are worse.
The pictures on my bed,
burn in the fire.
As I pray for forgiveness,
I can hear the devil's choir.
My wife and son,
watch as I suffer.
They see me struggle,
like they did when I struck.
I can see them now,
as I stand in the doorway.
This was his bedroom,
this is his resting place.
She lays next to his crib,
with Heaven in her eyes.
They look so peacefull,
with blood next to them.
I can hear his screams,
echo from the burning cradle.
I want to hold them again,
but only if I was able.
The gasoline soaks my feet,
and I breathe in the smell.
So this is the scent of death,
hope it's better than hell.
These are not tattoos,
their chain links to my own guilt.
God's ink on my sleeve.