The martyr

and so it's begun
this is year one
the birth of a child in the form of a man
wrapped in a towel
passed out on the floor
these drunken hours - graces deflowered
cast downby an angel
she used to kiss his weeping eyes
depressed in her bosom
tears roll off her nipple

sweetie, don't cry...
your tears are only alibis
to prove you still feel -
you only feel sorry for yourself
well, get on that cross,
that's all you're good for

and thusly it ends
depression seeps in on a lonely messiah
now he drinks with the lepers
losing a limb
his better half
a glass once half full
a head hung half-mast
he claims he's the victim
strangled by the nine-to-five
and a pattern of stillness
that haunted this still life

your tears are only alibis
to prove you still feel -
youonly feel sorry for yourself
and that's how you thrive,
your sorrow's your goldmine
so write some sad song about me
screaming your agonies, playing the saint

the martyr