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Mar 09, 2008
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The Cutting Floor
Dressed in my funeral best
I’m sent to the cutting floor.
Alongside the orangish glow of the furnace
my sensibilities are lost
my freedoms are taken
and my lifeblood washed away.
In this cool sterile place
I am prepared
for the swaggering glorification
that everyone deems so important.
Yet I am lost
me who was me
separated from all my self worth
remaining only a pretty trophy
to be gazed upon in sorrow.
— Howlinginpain, Mar 09, 2008
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poewriter58
18 years 4 months ago
welcome
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