I bear the hard scowl
Of gradual
Self-annihilation

Born from the womb
Of these nihilist years
Frittered, in the aft
Of malnourished thoughts

A trying surf
Lays claim
To these turbulent limbs

And each artery thrives
Full
With scalding concern

As the remedy trails
In steady pursuit
Gilded black
The silent noose
Each day, I shamefully don