Worthless

I paint my nails every day
But they chip and crack easily, despite my efforts
And my disposition breaks with them
I don’t know why I bother

I line my coffin with my good intentions
And mask my eyelids with the pretense of importance
But beneath the paint
A dark veneer
Covers everything in sweat
And dispassionate wanting

And my endeavors thus are stained
With the taint of failures
And the unbecoming stench of fear
And I don’t know why I bother

I know what the outcome will be.

I am not good enough to line the
Slimy darkness of your insides
Not fit to lick the stain of my blood
From your shoes after you stomp across my hands
And cripple me further

What use have I, anyway?
I manage to ruin things effortlessly
And I find I am not worth the
Paper my name is printed upon
As master hands me to master
And hurts me in the dark

I am not fit to stand before you
Not fit to bare your beatings
Not worthy to kiss the floor
When you throw me against it

I pray for some kind of restitution
For you all, those who’ve dealt with me
And my unwinning ways
And I dream of winter, and freezing
And the nice, peaceful death that
I also don’t deserve.