Rotten Core

The conscience sits at my core,
a guilt I've felt it before.
Time fails to be my mentor,
as I sink deeper into the fall.

The rope is thin and insecure,
I need to find a way to crawl.
But my nails are begging me to stop,
for they can't bear the shame of rot.

As I glance at the river below,
a fair face stared back cold.
It reminds me of Snow White at first,
but later of the apple that's cursed.

A foul heart that has been condemned,
the fate is soon coming to an end.
No prince can help to save the soul,
unless it is a heart made of gold.