C
Sin sincerely separated the summation of my frame, elated that it participated in suicidal blame. Slowly soulful destruction came, still sipping the same spirit that’s dipping into the flame. No slight slumping, I was slain. No cells pumping, only pain. I must be insane for sifting through shifting fame. Like slingshots aim for the targets gain, I sadly saw sorrow, knowing tomorrow’s rain belonged to me, the sinner’s bane. My soul was maimed, eternally shamed, seeking but sinking until the savior came. He soon removed my stain, baptized me in his name, then triumphantly proclaimed that I am now saved, sanctified and I’ll never be the same.