Wasted.
My soul. My time.
I spent all my days
Chafing my fingertips
To make the rope
That would eventually become
My noose.
But had I not done this,
The world would have
Laid me to rest on the road
Where my blood would be
Spilt--
Ground into the dust
By the heels for
The armies that march
To wage war
On our innocence.