Decrepit building of crumbing clay,

Here with the maggots I wish to lay.

Fingertips curled in ageless dust,

Denied the chance of one to trust.

The voice of hope that once would glimmer

Has faded now to an unrecognized timber,

Tossed among the bugs and ash,

A proper place for a precious stash.

Among this world, saturating

Fields of trees, bending and breaking.

Shards of glass just beyond my power,

I must submit to my darkest hour.

A chainlink fence just to bind me in,

A barbed wire chalice to contain my sin.

A trail of blood to admit my defeat,

It all ends with bodies on the concrete.