⠀
𝙰 𝚁𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚂𝙾𝙳𝚈
𝙾' 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙳𝙸𝙶𝙰𝙻 𝙻𝙸𝙱𝙴𝚁𝚃𝚈

I always listen to the shed peals beneath my lodge's land. Its peal's tone was tumultuous but euphonious. Roused my mesmerism, whence my eyes were solemnly behold upon the loch of tears that emit my silhouette; am I alive, or have I been dead since? 
 
Commit sacrilege against my rapsody of the dunes of sin and chastise me with amputated nails, my feet trampled like waves of sorrow. I kept the sins that couldn't take over my body in order for them to live longer in my bone marrow.
 
"Mother, my body was dead from the first time I breathed. Mother, I sanctioned myself for your punishment. Mother, I want to live. Alas, my sins can't go to seed."  
⠀