The False Conviction

It sits heavy, like an iron weight that’s held in my gut too many years, longer than the son of God trudged his days through dust and spit and bitter wine. and who am I to think I’m different? I’ve carried it past innocence, dragged it through beds, through bottles, through empty rooms with broken clocks. I knew the lie before it learned my name, and still I let it crawl in me, make a home from my bones, turn my heart to rust. I’ve heard them whisper, seen their glances dart and pierce, and yeah, it should make me burn, should twist me with rage like a rag wrung out for blood. But here’s the sick part: I forgive. I let them slander, I let them sneer. Maybe they think it means they won. Maybe they think they’re righteous. Me, I just keep on, empty pockets, empty hands, carrying the weight alone.