With my back against the wall, I bleed. The last of all I could ever need Has gone away. Empty of all illusion, As to what to say, I fill the void.
All I ask is not to fall, but I see That the past has come to call and feed. I pray, Upon shattered knees; I’d rather be Anything but this emptying Self-delusion that I’m included In what’s become better than living bitterly.