It is all in me yet seeping out.
Spilling onto the thick, clammy ground.
My motives gain no ambition
and I will toss my untruthful tactics into the abyss.

Exhausted, worn-out, pale and quick.
First sighted, then gone.
And again and again.

My fists are coming back to me torn and beaten.
My soul is attempting to return to me.

Torn and beaten.