Sympathy

[corpseus]

caught in the light of the moth-slayers
a white spec in the night then transformed into nothing,
a forced waste of fluid
a funny comment of a child
an obstruction of progress
a life so small as to never see the sun rise and set
given all my sympathy

aging in a home of unfamiliar faces
reaching out to God or nihilism
both becoming easy when chatting at Death with a twelve inch voice
spending all of his time reminiscing about reminiscing
having forgotten everything worth keeping track of
the old routine
the names of family
the two owner's of the ring on his finger
the reason for living
given all my sympathy

the shit on all the angels
for trying to help wretch after wretch
the blood of the martyrs
that get siphoned into drugs, silicon, and latex
the tears of the pure-at-heart
who try only to fail, die or be let down
given all my sympathy