What is truly evil?

I walk a tightrope, blinded, a blurred line that nobody truly understands. Sitting in the confessional suits me. Nobody can see me, and nobody wants to, they just appreciate that I’m there. Some might think I want recognition after all – but I know the truth.

Nobody’s ever going to turn over the stone of morality, really look at what’s right and wrong. They know they’re only going to find an ant nest of lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride.

So it’s my call. Today, I’m the judge, jury and executioner, not the priest on the other side of the grille that protects us from each other’s sin.

Why doesn’t it surprise me that he has the audacity to ask me what I want to tell him, what I need repentance for? It’s lucky the Church isn’t busy. I might have used a silencer but that doesn’t make it any less messy.

Walking, invisible, down the street, I am the unobserved observer. Struggling to seek sin, and bury my own, I try to ignore the sticky feel of blood and faith.