Strip The Flesh, Salt The Wound

Strip the flesh, salt the wound.
Nothing in this life is assumed.
In the darkness, I've been consumed.
Ever since the start I was doomed.

I am the hunger, the desperate, the cold.
A living lie, a contradiction. Fool's gold
Another empty husk nearing the threshold.
Again with these thoughts, maybe this time they'll take hold.

Strip the flesh, salt the wound.
When you're gone all will resume.
The birds will still sing, and the flowers will still bloom.
You knew from the start, you were marooned.

A soul lost at sea
Nothing left to be.
No apology.
Be free.

This poem is about: 
Me

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