Say I die

. . . Do you confess your sins? . . . No, I keep them. . . . For rags. . . .
-Anne Carson

Say I die
I'd rather find
myself at the gates of hell.

I'd sooner defend
all my offenses
that I thought I'd done so well.

Saint Pete's a dear
but just wants to hear
all the ways I'm swell,

and Jesus knows
about all those
times in guilt I fell.

So gnashing and gory
the entire story
some devil I'd prefer to tell

of all the sin
I revelled in
which evil did not compel.

For lust or rage
no fare was paid
my soul I did not sell.

Then bested Beelzebub
in utter disgust
must free me from my cell!