Ebony and Onyx

Which is worse?
To ask of life,
Or of death?
No, I tell freely,
I had no right-
But how can it be said

That I'm the one here
Who is messed up?
True though may it be,
Us two are pot and kettle,
Driven each, perhaps, by
Our own self-hatred.
Ebony and Onyx,
Both consumed by
Disgust for the other.
To each their own-
Less bothered am I
By those who sin
In another way from mine.
But constantly irksome
Are those that sin the
Very same, yet pass
Judgment on me.