I have committed my share of sins, most just average
ran-the-stop-sign-when-no-one-was-looking kind of sins.
I’m only human after all. But I’ve done things far worse
when the devil inside stole the keys to my morality
and went for a joyride through the manic world,
speeding and skidding through kaleidoscopic streets
and dimly lit alleyways slippery with alcohol and regret.
Each time my conscience was towed back
with scratched paint, a smoking engine, and shredded tires.
The guilt dented my soul, left me damaged in ways I couldn’t fix.
I wish there were penance enough to salvage grace from the wreckage,
but we all lose value once driven off the lot.
Lisa Lerma Weber is always soul searching. Her work has appeared in Ghost City Review, Green Light Lit, Vamp Cat, and others, with work forthcoming in 3 Moon Magazine and Pink Plastic House. Follow her on Twitter @LisaLermaWeber.