Prayer "Sinners quill"

Bless me, for I have sinned, fighting trolls makes me go on a grind;
do I mind? Behind my thoughts - the fear of being entwined with
Malice and Despair, to grin on their mistakes, I myself might share...

Am I not pharisee of old, as told, when it is said, talk is for the sheep
and silence is Gold? Gloating my Christian name, was it for the fame
or some trigger-happy clicks or some cunt-licks? Warmongering game!

What makes me differ from hags and witchers who resist and wither;
to sliver and roam on their way to and through like the devil? Aren't
they cast aside on the walls like piss what nobody notice even for amiss!

Maybe my ways are but a kiss of the Iron Maiden, to chop down heads;
maybe I should sleep in it and be glad, not well-read nor heard and said?
To pay the iron price - was it nice or avarice, to be that judgement in the field of lice...

Maybe I'm the one who is bugged, like a cop without a coffee-mug is out of a tug;
in war with everything. Flawed in the assumption that wisdom trumps consumption;
people favor knowledge above lazy gossip around the campfire and forgotten Stowe!!

Maybe hindered is my sight, behind a rock and a hard place, could I deface thy Grace
and remind myself like Job - that I dost not know, how it came to be - your legacy -
in creating things out of nothing, when I can't even plow the field without fly-swatting...

Fishing for some fat herrings or red lobsters - did it bolster my pride or indulge something?
I'm clueless and in enmity with your Holy Spirit - let me remember my first love -
my thirst for Your encore and the fleeting feeling, like a flying turtledove! spare me, the Sore!!

This is my kill count - my last righteous bill. I don't know, how I outlast through the days and nights
without your mercy; godspeed and good will! Can I even chill without the thrill to draw some blood
from all those wicked, who are left out from Heaven for naught - or am I God to see the truth from gore?

The thorn at sides; the quill in hand! Am I left or right - against Your all-mighty stand?
The cross and all the prophets - how should I be like that? Am I like the trademark trick every mage
pulls out of his hat? Some wannabe Sunday sorcerers could follow indeed, what is my worth - Creed?

What is my business and what is my mercy. Am I Roman or Christian enough to leave even cinders;
as I open my umbrella to tella some fellas; galavanting like merry knights on a jousting endevor -
devout of meaning and feisty in fealty. Isn't that the reason, you left and I feel like smothering cruelty...

Enterpriced on my apogee did I decree or digress from yours to disgrace - to embrace my folly;
alas, my stupor and golly! Was it all in train; am I insane or the same of those who are like Shaun?
Was it to play a blame and point some sinners when I'm pinned on the cross or am I spawned in vain!