What is there to pump my blood?
 I am devoid of heart and love.
Why do I care about my face,
And slaving for a brief embrace?
The only touch I crave is death.
The coldest skin, a rattled breath.
I’ve felt all that there is to feel.
The deepest pain, their pinching steel.
I’ve smiled and I have sliced my skin,
Religiously let demons in.
Invited them into my soul,
To take me with them when they go.
Regret for every choice I make,
I never cared what was at stake.
So what is there to get up for?
I won’t be what I was before.