My Cold Soul

Maybe I live a life to be envied

Wretched life, soiled and perverse.
I live an existence so spiteful.
Each breath seems some cold curse,
Each moment alive seems frightful.
Maybe I live a life to be envied.
Somehow that thought holds colder.
Long now has my soul been empty --
And in living I’m left to smolder.
Someday I shall hear a dirge.
Reflecting my grief and my gloom.
My desire to have once been purged,
Early on, from peace, in mother’s womb.
Only Death’s touch will I find truly,
The release from a life lived cruelly.