Of all my sins this trembles off my lips with a type of fury only met by folding molten, but as lava does, it cools, cementing my idle means of communication.
Shall I ever tell?
Or will this stony countenance rest forever more?
Shall I be condemned to this cell?
Shall the cement floor shoot cold pain up my body for all eternity?

Ice in my veins, molten round my skin.

I ever so foolishly meandered and when thunder struck I was trapped within. Within myself.
His eyes betray my regret, mocking me.
How dare he?

His patronizing gaze should turn to granite, a weight should give way in me, and with it should fall all reassurance, trust, and faith.

No, I shall remain in my own demise whilst I burn from the inside. And he can watch me go without ever believing something more.