Victoria Lau
ABECEDARIAN CONFESSION
A is for his Adam's Apple that I ate. To you I turn for penance.
B is for the Babbling, Constructing a Death sentence,
the Envy that fueled me to steal your Flame, your match made in heaven
for seven minutes in heaven.
G is for my Gluttony and Greed; listening to His Hisses,
he whispered: “Ignorance is not bliss.” Chose wisdom sealed with a Judas Kiss.
My Lust for Love, Murder: a blood honeymoon, my fifty sisters and I killed
fifty grooms, condemned for the blood spilled with endless water vessels to refill.
N, my Narcissistic selfies, I fell in love with my idealized doppelgänger,
my dependence on the kindness of strangers.
The Onerous tasks, and the ass undoing my hard work behind my back;
Opening Pandora's jar, the inability to swallow my Pride, the Pact
I made with the devil, pressing flowers, draining like Queen Anne's lace,
my Instagram feed, the black mirror who told me another woman had a prettier face,
and now I am forced to dance in Red-hot iron shoes. I once cheated
on a trig test, pegged as a Sloth but had a learning disability untreated,
couldn't figure out the value of Sin ø, or the value of me, and thought
I was ugly as sin, sailed off with a guy with a Sinbad tattoo, on his father's yacht,
took a wrong turn to Sin City, swan dived into the burning lake, skinny dipping;
then, he sold me out for thirty Silver bullets, like an Amazon package with free shipping,
I was out for delivery. Tantalized with the grapes and water I can never reach,
for feeding rotten baby carrots, baby cabbage and baby breath to a bunch of leeches;
cursed to keep rolling a large rock up a hill in the Underworld, sweat wiped by
Veronica's veil, the Werewolf's Wrath, the sins of Gen X becomes the sins of Gen Y.
Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was years ago—
an e-Zpass to cross the River Styx. Don't turn around, just go. Charon rows.