When other people have morals
and tell me that what I’m doing is wrong,
I try to think back to the days when I had morals,
when I was certain about right and wrong,
and their differences.
I remember how the right and wrong started to blur,
until the world was a kaleidoscope of color,
until the wrongs and the rights melted into candle wax
on a hooker’s tits and I bent down to lick her nipples,
knowing it was probably wrong
but finding a way to make it seem all right.
Now every moment of my life is a rationalization,
a justification of why right and wrong no longer exist,
an explanation of how your morals are holding you back.
Go ahead and cling to them,
go on thinking there is such a thing as right or wrong.
There isn’t. I know it.
That’s how I know people like you live in a closed box,
yet you feel safe inside.
That’s why you won’t catch me judging anyone.
Not like you do.
The only thing I see as wrong now is judgement,
since right and wrong are all relative
and dependent upon your beliefs.