Seven - For this is what makes me.

A thousand things said about it, A million words spoken,

As for that one word: Hate, ‘Who would have thought?’ they say. (envy)

Well, let me tell you a bit: “When all the hearts are broken

And in a crashed state, Does it matter either way? (despair)

As, deep in the mind it sits, never out in the open,

Stewing, brewing and waiting for its bait; engulfed in the darkness, not one can see the day. (greed)

So dangerous, that man, the dimwit; more than whose character is ashen,

For he is who will not stand his own fate, and let his mind be washed away. (sloth)

Yet, in his heart lies a decrepit, a monster when awoken

Devours all that passes its gate, and one hears that limping soul’s satisfied bray. (wrath)

No, he can’t face the mighty knight’s credit, whose acts not just befallen;

Arrogance to his sword’s hilt accurate, his show worth the display!” (pride)

Can I point out the explicit? Or snuggle in with the hidden?

For my wants are what they call ‘adulterate’, groping at whatever that lay. (lust)

Yes, my act is mine. I own my sin with disdain.

For that is what makes me human, the species that went astray.