(no subject)

[_coeur]

And thusly it ends,
depression seeps in on a lonely messiah.
Now he drinks with the lepers.
Losing a limb, his better half.
A glass once half full,
a head hung half-mast.
He claims he's the victim,
strangled by the nine-to-five.
And a pattern of stillness,
that haunted this still life.

Your tears are only alibis;
to prove you still feel.
[you only feel sorry for yourself]
and that's how you thrive.
Your sorrow's your goldmine!
So write some sad song about me,
screaming your agonies, playing the saint.

[the martyr.]