Wounded

Cuts deep within ourselves
Knives in our own hands
Wounds still bleeding
Never to stop their stream

Unable to remember
When and why they were born
Still they pour their misery
To this rotting piece of flesh

Vision growing darker
Ready to be sent to the grave
Right after gasping for air
For the very first time

What on this earth
Could be more beautiful and true
Than the complete solitude
In darkness of death