What is there left of you?
That cannot tie a laceless shoe
Could waste a feather bare,
So they will find all who care
No, cared about you
And give them what takes,
Making them a shadow of your mistakes.
But who cares, certainly not you?
A drooling, soiled figurine through and through
Dealt in, to be death out
Wasted on a wasting mouth
Not to resurface those feelings that crackle and shout
That has broken and misspoken your disease
Into a map of this blood’s remaining plea’s.