my new purpose alludes me
do i need a purpose?
i am a sharpened weapon
brutally crafted of suffering for suffering
there is nothing to cut
nothing to be swung at
nothing to bleed for
nothing to sweat and cry for
i wait a week a month
it's nearly half a year now
it hurts to wait
all the comforts i thought i wanted
eat away at me. misery
i feel like an ornament
but i wish to be used
draw blood and sweat
this heaven is becoming hell
these soft feathers are worse than knives