Sometimes I want to breathe, suck the world into my lungs, till my ribs crack and my heart explodes, fill myself with your pain, so you don't have to feel it. I want to pull poison from the wound, and drink it myself. I want to die for your sins, crucify myself so that I believe. Because then I will have a purpose, I will be nailed to a cause, rather than grasping, desperately trying to pull a banner from amongst the debris of so many imploded lives. Lives that I built, with my hands, and my time, and my blood; only to watch them fall down, and rust. I would give myself freely, because I am worthless. I am an apology spurned, left to plummet to the ground and rot. I am a song unsung, left to spoil in the back of a throat. I am what never was, what never can be, what never will be, left to eat away till I punch a hole through hope and happiness, and leave them both hollow. I am putrid, festering, acidic. I am ugly, blackened soul, bruised face, blood caked nails. What use have I for salvation? Give me your sins. Give me your troubles. They are not weights I can bear, but it does not bother me. My spine may crack, splintering out through the skin of my back, leaving me empty and folded, but I will not utter a word. I deserve it all. The rejection, the hatred, the tears, feed them too me.Throw them into my mouth, a cavernous pit, inescapable, jagged, snarled in a sneer. Give me this small tribute, for it is what I am. Nothing.