Another day in the tranches of life, crawling like a limbless animal.
Dragging its limp torso by clenching its teeth on the ground.
Honor roll human centipede.
Butterfly-to-(NEVER)-be.
I am doomed to life's muddy labyrinthine vortex
Bent and helpless.
The more I try to escape it, the more I choke on the dirt.

Acceptance.

Hello, maze of sick souls
Golgotha is thy name.
Everybody's crawling and carrying their wooden cross.
Attached to their spine like a set of broken wings.  
Nailed to the cross -oh, manmade Gods of the tranches!
Half-and-half deities, artificially made in life's hellish laboratory.
Nailed-to-the-cross demigods.

Deceit or beliefs do not exist here,
In this church of mud.
At least there is some comforting easiness in doom, in this acceptance phase.
Faithless, tortured, honest souls, calling this maze home.

Home, sweet home.