I work day in and day out,
Exhuming what little I can
from the broken canvas that
you see in front of you.
Exhuming some sort of
long lost desire to press on,
as such a desire has been
long buried alongside
what I once was.
Tell me,
How can I be better?
I work day in and day out,
Exerting what little energy I can
extract from the blood that is
as dark as the oils that embroil
through the late night fights
that we have.
Exerting that energy in order
to prove to you that I am worth it,
that I am not some fluke that you
found as you sifted through the sands,
and that you once praised and cherished as
the finest of all golds, only to find out
that the treasure you so desired
was nothing more than a
cheap knock off.
Tell me,
How can I be better?
I work day in and day out,
Expressing what little emotion I have left
so that you don't think that
I am not reverting into
a thoughtless automaton,
one whom is content with the
gasoline that was the initiator
of how we met, but I feel that
my fire is fading,
becoming as bleak as the
grey coals that slowly feed the embers.
Expressing some sort of soul
behind by dull eyes,
Before my systems shut down,
and I revert back to my
original programming of
brooding and weeping.
