The Purgatory Paradox

Somewhere between my sins and my virtues, I know I belong to the purgatory in every universe. 

              Every? Indeed every. 

'Every' cause I've sinned as much as I have not.            'Every' for I've given love (and hate) as much as I have not. 'Every' for I have kissed as many cigarettes as the souls I've pressed my lips against, and for I've sacrificed as many dreams as I have destroyed.                                'Every' as I've called hellfire a teenage girl and satan both.

But maybe 'Every' is too heavy a word to be used in this writing, cause it happens to be parallel in every universe. Maybe the love I've given is called hate in the other worlds, or maybe vice versa? Maybe the cigarettes I've kissed don't ruin my lungs in the other universe (and the souls in terms of my body the whole.) 

Maybe, I'm the lamb or the mother who got sacrificed with her dreams too high (but I must've gone into the holy fire by my own bare feet, throwing away my belongings along with my daughter in the cosmos.) And I know one thing for sure that if I were a lamb in this worldly chaos, I would cut my throat on my very own self— and live in the heavens for eternity.

 But would God let live an incinerated mother, a self-slain lamb, a fragile body, or a timeworn lover in the heavens?     — for heaven has many restrictions!

 And so here I am, stuck in the purgatory, again.