A poem about sins

You can gain weight,

Vomit everything you ate,

Exercise until your muscles ache,

Or pinch and drag 'til you're fake,

But below the skin and meat,

Sins grow and keep,

Constant to your defeat.

You can scar and you can tear;

Weep deeply in your despair;

To no prevail will go your wail,

For the marrow, it grows

And the marrow, it stays

To tell your tale;

Buried in your shame, 

Frail and chipping, completely stale.

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Author's Note: I wrote this in Biology class after a HORRIBLE trauma flashback and felt like writing this down before the feeling faded

(I feel like I only write good poetry in my doom and despair)