What is the purpose that I was born for?
Please, give me some sort of metaphysical clue
that shall enlighten my fading sanity.
I'm tired from drinking an endless brew,
I'm exhausted from all the venom I spew,
and above all else, this rings true:
I ache from being viewed as ultimately shrew.

All that I can fathom is being a martyr;
a gift to a bleeding world to which us humans caused.
There is so much greed and little to no sacrifice
that eventually, humanity will die out, that's the price.
So, pull my arm, shatter my heart, and crack my ribs.
Don't worry, you've already forsaken that; my life will suffice.
If I were to give a semblance of advice, do be precise
when you slice, for I don't want to ask twice
to be buried six feet under, in earthly paradise.

Pain has long walked away, you needn't be concerned.
Continue your quest to dig your claws to that which I hold dear,
for I don't know how much there is left to give,
but your ravenous thirst has reached a new frontier.
I don't understand how one is never quenched,
but what I can muster is even after I perish, I'll still forgive.
Though I throw around the word loosely, I don't hate.
Humanity must succeed; life's fate to inflate,
to transcend all misery and greed that seems to dictate.
This isn't up for debate, I'm ready for my blind date.
My fate awaits, for a blade that'll serrate and mutilate,
but please, one last thing: don't forget that my love
wasn't something you could just calculate or replicate.