there is indeed relief
in the bleeding words
of a cutting edge misery

there is indeed beauty
in a dying poetry
that gets to live another day

there is indeed meaning
in an empty paper:
a brevity poignant testament

there is indeed life
in every ending rhymes,
a killing soundtrack for past demise

It’s time to be the martyr.  
It’s time to be the saint.  
It’s time to be the Pelican,
And with your own blood paint.

It’s time to be the hero.  
It’s time to be the fool.  
It’s time to be the offering,
To all your silly rules.

It’s time to give up joy.  
It’s time to swallow dirt.  
It’s time to live alone,
And die, and choke, and hurt.

I got,
no reason to smile,
no dream to live,
no path to follow,
no god to pray,
no person to admire,
no thing to hug,
no reason to stay,
no feeling to express,
no way to die,
no soul to love,
no demon to marry,
no angle to  kiss,
no fan to kick,
no anti to accept,
no fate to meet,
no nightmare to enjoy,
no fear to control,
no human to hate,
no deal to cut,
no ray to pass,
no peace to make,
no mistake to remember,
no story to sing,
no song to compose,
no energy to survive,
no devil to break
no mirror to look.