We all have done evil; twisted out of our spine. The wrath of Satin calls us with his harmonious chime. The bells of which are ringing in the sinners ear and he think why he's been running from it all these years. The bells toll, calling us in. Haunting our souls with the reminder of sins. Evil seeps out of the pockets in our shoes. “Quick take them off!” or die, if you chose. We strip ourselves of the guilt we can remember. But really the virus is only starting to fester. It creeps up our legs and over our knees. Always killing and stinging like bees. Inch by inch the guilt makes its way. Never stopping or pausing with any delay. Over our hearts is where it sinks. Pumped through our veins, with memories as its links. Done. We’re done. The Cancer has implanted. The evil of guilt has us now reprimanded. Beaten and whipped and torn to shreds. Here is where we lay staring at death.