Untitled Poem by Laces Barber

What is this world but stealing air to waste on breath?
What am I worth? Nought but death?
What is there in the dank drear of my own mind,
But thoughts that bind the hope of something left but
Death?

What is this world but bone and clay?
Are we alone? And who's to say
That we will one day shake the hand that shook our souls to life?

What am I but the genes I wear?
Am I cursed to this hearse of ‘care'?
Is it true that life's not fair?
Is anybody there?

Why eyes?
Why sight?
What's there to see but emptiness surrounding me,
And now it's broke just leave it be,
For humans are vulgarity.

Let death have breath I say,
Let him feel the emptiness of clay.