My Penance, My Punishment, My Crime.

My crime, my punishment, penance

My past a cloud over me,

The black sea rolling in,

The dark figure swallowing me,

The dark swirling storm to engulf,

I stand there. Alone. But not afraid.

This pain, my penance,

For my crime. My penalty. For my sins.

The indelible mark I leave, my crime.

My life.

The scar on the world.

The past once forgotten, opened up like an old wound.

The pierced mind,

The realisation of what I had lost, what I had forgotten, repressed and chose not to see.

Has come back to haunt me.

Oh you dark figure, standing in the doorway,

I haven’t seen you in a while,

Still too soon, always too soon.

I saw your symptoms but not your face.

The haunted face, scarred marks. Desperate living.

The crime you have come to set straight.

My crime, deserving punishment.

My existence in this place.


I exist. And I do not know why.

But I shall carry on, keep avoiding the darkness,

The spectre over my soul, within the depths of my mind.

To avoid this punishment, for my crime.

One day at a time.

Until time runs out.

A video an online friend sent me.

Reminded me of stuff I said years ago, stuff I said and thought, stuff I still think that I’ve gotten so used to thinking of, that I’ve stopped noticing.

That I deserve pain and punishment for hurting others. Even if I am not and told I am not.

I remember a time when an old friend I talked asked why I thought I deserved punishment when I said I did. The answer then, the answer now, although I had forgotten.

I’m alive, I exist. That is my crime.