63.The Sweet Weight of What Was Forbidden

Why be good, when the world opens wider

for those who dare to taste the edge of fire?

What is virtue but a chain too tight,

a leash that pulls against the neck of desire?

I walked the line, didn't I? Stayed within the light,

but the shadows whispered sweeter songs

than the prayers I whispered into empty air.

Being good is a cage, isn't it?

A place where wings are clipped before they spread,

where fire is doused before it sparks.

I tried to be what they asked, to wear the robes

of virtue, but the fabric itched,

and I longed for the skin beneath,

the skin that burned for more than quiet blessings.

The weight of goodness is heavier than sin,

for sin is light, sin is quick,

a flash of freedom in the night,

while goodness binds the hands,

keeps the feet from stepping too far.

I grew tired of the rules,

of the paths that never turned.

What is sin but a door, wide open?

While virtue locks itself behind walls,

behind silence too thick to break.

I learned that the light only blinds,

while darkness shows what the light hides—

desire, hunger, the taste of something raw

beneath the skin that's kept too clean.

Was I wrong to take what wasn't mine?

To slip between the lines they drew,

the lines that kept me from the world,

from the pulse beneath my skin that screamed,

there is more, there is more.

Sin is sweeter, isn't it?

It curls like smoke, like wine on the tongue,

while virtue is dry, brittle, tasteless.

To be good is to starve in plain sight,

to deny the heat that rises,

to bow the head when the body aches

to stand, to take, to taste.

I was good once, or I tried to be—

but it left me hollow, left me cold,

for goodness takes more than it gives.

It asks for sacrifice, for silence,

for the quiet death of desire

that never stops burning beneath the skin.

So I let the fire rise, let the sin slip in,

and the world opened, wider than before.

To sin is to taste the forbidden,

to feel the pulse of life unchained,

to step where others fear to tread.

Goodness binds you to a path,

but sin—it lets you fly, lets you fall,

lets you taste the ground and the sky,

while goodness keeps you tethered to the soil.

Why be good, when the world

was meant to be tasted in full?

I took what I wanted,

and the weight lifted,

the rules broke beneath my hands,

and I was free, free in a way goodness never allowed.

Was it wrong to want more,

to reach for what was not mine to hold?

The world told me yes, but the sky told me no,

for it spread open wide when I stepped

beyond the lines they drew.

Goodness may have its place,

but I found the better path beneath the stars,

beneath the wildness of a heart unbound.

To be sinful is to be alive,

to take what the body craves,

to let the mind wander where it dares not go

when shackled by virtue's quiet rules.

I found my way through the dark,

and it was brighter than the light I left behind.

Sin is a taste, a song, a fire,

while goodness is a chain, a stone, a whisper

that fades before it's ever heard.

Let the world speak of good and evil,

of wrong and right—I no longer care.

I know what it is to burn, to break,

and still stand whole, still rise again.

To be sinful is to claim the world as mine,

while to be good is to watch it slip away,

piece by piece, inch by inch,

until nothing remains but the hollow shell

of what I was supposed to be.

I would rather burn in the fires of what I crave

than drown in the quiet of what I denied.

So let them judge, let them call me wrong—

I have tasted freedom, and I will not turn back.