I’m not sure what it will take,
To pay for that mistake.
The one I made decades ago,
That swung my heart to and fro.
Merry-go-round of emotions since,
The kind of pain that makes you wince.
It promised much and provided little,
Satan asked if he should play his fiddle.
Mocking the death of my feelings,
Taunting me with memories when,
I made active choices to sin.
“But do you remember when…”
“If your wife knew that, then…”
“Your love is fake, your story is a lie.”
Round and round, despair takes my breath.
This must be what it feels like – death.
All of this because I wanted to see,
That which wasn’t meant for me.
Images on a screen, women that weren’t mine.
Innocence taken before its time.
Side effects that can still be felt,
Worse than a bruise, worse than a welt.
Scar tissue that runs…
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