This is an empty echo
Of whoever I used to be
This body that I carry
A burden and brutal reminder
Of the vanished part of me
Hollow; without core
Or substance to live
Blank and meaningless
A life without life to give
Each breath more futile
Than the next
Like the shallow hope of yesterday
Smothered to the death
I am but the mold
Of something only better
And desolate all the same
That screams my gory shame
This is false-
This flesh that breathes for living
But lives for nothing
Is dying
It wilts
Like a flower, at the core of darkness |