Burdens of being
                             A life without meaning
Tragedy of a life never evolved

                                                        Our curse, never being absolved
                          Blame is in the veins
                                              Cuts, verticle--Maim 

Organic Desires of a blade, dire

          Deep are the wounds of the soul-- a blade can never touch

   Deepening lines, never quite enough

         I beckon for one more cut to cleanse a body never meant to mend
                                                                         
                                        Into the quiet dark

I
                     wish
to
                             descend