Rather amazing, 

The capacity for the human mind to convince oneself that one is above everything, 

That one is absolved of all guilt when reality says otherwise, 

That one is superior through the ability to simply drown in denial, 

Impervious to any reason, knowing every accusation rings true but washing it away in an ever recurrent wave of disregard. 

She thought herself immune to all remonstrations, 

Felt that she could just pretend that her god forgave her and steeled her against the enemy she had created herself in a shameful display of delusion and selfishness, 

Unwilling to comprehend that it just didn’t work that way. 

She could lose herself in parties, in alcohol, in pretentious dinners and sex with demons, 

But it did not make her righteous nor powerful, as she convinced herself. 

She still had no boundaries for truly wicked people, 

And remained entirely at the whim of social convention and expectation. 

She was not moving on. 

She was reemerging into her cage, after hiding under her bed to escape her sins. 

She had no will of her own, but only followed the insistences of others. 

She had no mind of her own, but only gave in to the wants of whomever were not him, 

Whatever was dictated she should do, and she ran from her past into her past, 

Ran from her obligation, her debt, in a fit of narcissistic denial. 

No, she was not strong, not resilient, not above anything. 

She took the low road into self-debasement, into weakness, 

Into the vices of false piety and advantageous relationships built upon usury. 

Contrary to her false front of strength, she was weaker than she imagined, 

A puppet, a doormat for vain men, too weak to face any guilt, any real emotion,

Plying insincere virtue and belligerent denial as her shields from truth, 

Her behavior anything but dealing with what she had done, nothing but cope, 

The weakest person of anyone she knew, 

The weakest woman in the world living a psychosis of self-help nonsense, fraudulent religious fervor with nothing to support it, no actions, no confessions, and making herself a slave to the shallow desires of vacant, self-serving men. 

She did not rise up and confront her demons, 

She dated them, tripling down on what had led to her troubles, 

Throwing open the door of her cage and inviting in every possibly repeat, 

Imperiously believing that she knew what was best, none her ideas, none any better than any choices she had ever made. 

To fight her imaginary battle against a non-existent enemy, she swore off penance, swore of faith shown by action, swore off anything resembling real emotion, and gave herself to wantoness, to sociopathy. 

She was not standing tall, she was not living in the light of her lord, she just used his name to excuse herself, living as immorally and selfishly as she could and calling it piety, living like the deaf, blind, and dumb monkeys all in one, her denial as strong as and self-reinforcing as any addict’s, 

And she was an addict, addicted to self-pity and ignoring her own actions until they blew up in her face. 

She was not opening the door to heaven with her behavior. She was sealing her fate in permanent bondage to worthlessness, trading truth for a life predicated upon material bullshit and forced feelings she, in her delusion, told herself was healing. 

She lived in a perpetual fetal position of the mind, ignoring the truth as hard as she could,

And twisting every word, every remonstration, into its inverse, throwing the commands of her god back into his face, kneeling for debasement not faith. 

It was truly grotesque, but she had always been grotesque in her self-rationalizations, and he could do naught but laugh at her self-inflicted psychosis, as she deserved whatever abuse she reaped from her loathsome disregard for him, for herself, for anything that really mattered. 

She was not powerful. She did the opposite of whatever he said she should do, and that gave him all the control over her. She would destroy herself to oppose him, a pathetic, but earned end. 

He tried to reason with her, to appeal to her humanity, but she had none. and to spite him she threw herself to her own devils, becoming the concubine of contrarianism and assuring her own ruin. 

It was glorious in its debauchery of truth, in its sociopathic rejection of sincerity.

He hoped she enjoyed her debasement, her intentional, continued willingness to make herself worth nothing. 

Rather amazing, the power of the mind to fool itself into believing the opposite of reality.