Permission to Sin

I can’t help it. I see a stop sign, and angels start to sing. Even my demons agree, telling me to press the gas. It must be right, so I do. Something inside me jumps, wants to break free, to go where I’m not supposed to. They say rules keep you safe, but safety feels plain. So I cross lines, run lights, feel alive for a moment before I wake up. Every “don’t” sounds like “try.” Up looks like down. Maybe I’m broken, or maybe the world is too stiff, and I’m just the flexible one.