Poor, worthless,
a waste of space,
a void expression
painted on
a lonely face.

Not worth the time,
not worth the price,
a blank existence
filled with not
but greed and vice.

Not one to look at,
turn away,
an empty canvas
time forgot to
paint one day.

Taunts chip away,
my will to flee,
for sticks and stones
may break my bones
but words will surely kill me.