Professional Confession

Crossing lines etched in stone,
daring to fill them with ink,
breaching limits in bound paperbacks,
here I confess, wrong I am.

Communion with the mother,
violating her tender love,
communion with the father,
extracting revenge for his love.

Laws sacrificed at the altars of art,
portraits misshapen, abject and dark,
godless, lawless, the characters roam
a madman I am, guilty I stand.

Here I demand to be burned at the stake
but for once you to stand by me.
Here I prove myself guilty,
there I raise a finger at thee.


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