Must be nice to live without a conscience, 

To know how you misled, lied, and feel not even a pang of regret, 

So smug in your phony little world, your baseless vanity, 

So cavalier in your words, painting a history of discomfort you purposefully hid, 

Did nothing about for so long, if even true. 

But your god saw you, though you don’t even believe in him. 

Must be nice to forget, to bury your sins, 

To live without a conscience. 

But karma also sees and doesn’t care if you believe in her.