I am dead.
As long as i shall walk in this guilt, consider my grave occupied.
And this guilt, it will never leave.
This guilt is a scar, and it pierces my soul like a hot knife through melting butter.
The guilt of having depleted an endless supply of affection.
Many men in our time have achieved impossible feats
Men have ran far lengths in short amounts of time
Men have lifted almost fourfold of what they weigh
Men have left the earth to touch the planets and stars
But none of those accomplishments can match what I have done,
I have wasted what was an unconditional love.
Nothing can shock me anymore.
I am immune to any sharp emotion
I can fear no harm to myself
I have walked the longest, but these feet they do not tire
Because no pain, announcement nor change can phase me
Compared to the verdict she blindsided upon me: a blitzkrieg on fertile land.