I stand in front of you, stunt, sickly.
My eyes are rayless, my skin is weakly.
No sign of joy or peg to life.
I'm tangled in whole in a net of lies.

I don't cry, but tears are all around.
It's like a life circle for me is shut down.
I don't scream - no strength, no strife.
It's like a mouse has gnawed of all my life.

I stand in front of you, disheveled.
I'm like a book, thumbed through, bedevilled.
And there's no use or purpose in it.
Her place is on the far shelf indeed.

I stand in front of you as I am right now.
Don't drive me away from you, put up with somehow.
I've no strength, no faith, no meaning, no purpose.
Leave me a pinch of love at least, with no pose.