Nothing Epic

I am the willing,the wanting,the beaten,the battered,the hated,the loathed,the loved,the dead umong myself.



Ive killed and died,faught and lost,followed and lead yet I shadowbox the rot of my soul somehow able to bleed,the truley impossible umong my bitten hand.



I prey to nothing for confusion,still I despise the offer settling for pain and offering my all of nothing.



I live new days but visit hell often enough to have a key.



My blood on the wall is my Mona Lisa,My body in the gutter is my mansion with a sunset,and abortion is the curse unto myself chosen by me only to live my wretched remained past forever as the nightmarish reminder of each milligram.