Sinner Wannabe
Hypocritical in her ways,
She yearns to waste her days.
Morning to noon, and night again,
The years flow by, unchanging, mundane.
Her lies, like polished trinkets, gleam,
Each with sharp edges, yet unseen.
Her flaws lie open, raw and exposed,
Leaving depths of cruelty still unopposed.
She longs for hell, its dark embrace,
Yet finds herself in virtue's space.
She tries her worst, yet cannot stray
How does one fail in wicked ways?
Stumbling down the wide, dark road,
Mistaken for an innocent rogue,
No matter how fiercely she may strive,
She remains a sinner wannabe.
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