Your vicious grip takes hold of me
And, clenching me by the neck
Chokes out one last breath…
And the soul bounds from its mortal cage.

And yet, though dead, awake I am
And still presently conscious
With all reasonable intellect
To function just as once I did.

Though fake, it seems a clever guise
To pass the days as they flee past
By pretending that you’re the same
Person that you always were.

But you’re not, as you well know,
And never could be, I suspect.
You’re forever tainted in mortal eyes
To be damned to a life of suffering.

And yet, you wake up every day,
Proceeding on with unrelentless vigor;
But there’s no passion in your eyes
And no life in your fresh corpse.

Outwardly you have them fooled,
But who are they to judge you here?
Half of them have yet to experience,
And the other half have since died too.

And so, you struggle onward valiantly,
Without a purpose, without a cause,
And further more, with no hope of redemption
To bleed new life into your core.

It’s too bad you pried your heart
Out of your own chest, moreover,
To hand to a perfect stranger,
Parading in a more perfect uniform.

It’s worse still that you trusted,
Because we both know that trust
Is one thing that, once broken,
Never quite fits together the way it once did.

And yet you were stupider still,
To give up your childish innocence
To such a man who would jerk it from cold hands
To throw it like trash to ravenous dogs.

And you wonder why you suffer…