Nothing to do but to hate the one
I've become
Nothing to see in me but
The failure I am as a son
When this life has run
The length of the time
It is meant
I can never know
Why I failed
Or in what column
Or sort
And then
How can I wash off
The stink of loss
The stench of worthlessness
And the rain of the empty
Pours over me
Will it bring
A metamorphosis
Or will I lay shaking
In the depths
Of my misery
Of this
My faithless existence