Laying out the pieces like some morbid puzzle,
I have nothing left I may as well be wearing a muzzle.
What is the point of going through all this trouble?
It’s a petty masquerade and I’m in the middle of the war.
Living life is becoming such a chore.
There was never a point to tainting someone’s mind body and soul, let alone their life.
So as I sit here trying to get rid of all of this strife, I’ll continue contemplating my miserable life.