Who am I?
What is left?
Has this cruel existence,
Broken me?
Broken me so thouroughly,
That like a slave who does not question, who does not think
I follow the orders, the commands,
And offer myself, heart mind and soul on a platter
To be crushed and thrown away
After I outlast my usefulness?
Is that all there is to life,
A broken promise of happiness,
An empty promise of purpose,
The idea of freewill and freedom,
That hangs in front of us,
Like bait in front of fish,
Luring us in.
And so, I ask again,
Who am I?
What is left?
