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.
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.