Reservoir Chronicles: The Punisher

She binds herself in ropes of steel,

in mental torture that puts mi in semi-agony.

What heinous crime has she committed,

that she would choose her self-torture to be so?

We hold our breaths as the egg-shells we walk on crack,

for today might have her awoken blank.

Or sad, or depressed, or filled with self loathe.

For a crime, we cannot identify, committed.

She reinforced her conscience with the fires of hell,

and now as a back fire she burns with guilt.

On the road of pleasure, guilty pleasure,

for abstaining, guilty desire, and for doing, guilty deeds.

At what point does the balm awaken?

Little one listen,

for you seem not to know the meaning of a crime.

Though your core-conscience is like a babe's,

that innocence might be the death of you.

You strangle yourself with un-understandable guilt,

a guilt that to us is but an illusion.

Let the real punisher do his job and be, for he has no page on you,

let the punisher be and stop writing your own self-created sins at will.