Dead man walking                dazed
eyes blank                               and
killed by years                      searching
sraining to see                        for
the one thing that                    just
he knows will never come         one
spirit ground to the dust of tombs    slight
pallid spectres of no warmth                     chance
moving into the fringe of his gaze                 but
his lethargy tells                                                     as
there is little left for them to take                  so
no spark                                                                  often
no light                                                                  before
passion for life denied                                  whenever
the cloying                                                            comes
the clinging                                                            some
filth left upon him                                            desperate
in the dark                                                            perhaps
no choice but to                                               undeserved
try to wash this                                                     last
scar                                                                          clean
wound                                                                   chance
to scrape                                                              away
and to cut                                                            into
till blood flows                                                  my
knife cleanses nothing                               future
just mocks                                                       I
have nothing  left                                          fail
not even my blood                                       myself
drained out and soiled                               again