a poem, potentially a song

Grab me by my shackles,
tell me everyone's afraid,
my face is falling apart and all my debts are paid.
Claw an X into my chest and tell me "It's okay,
Every now and then most people lose their way."
Look me in the eye and tell me that I look content,
'cuz when I see these saggy eyes I don't think that makes sense.

I reach across my bed and feel just empty space,
My other hand rakes trenches across a bloody tear-soaked face,
Eyes are red, my feet are numb, in this dark frozen place,
Expose my face for no one so I do no harm,
I guess these eyes only do so much without the right amount of charm
So burn my things

Build a pyre of pillows with my effigy in place,
Strike the match across my stubbly visage of disgrace.
Is this how to be a martyr or at least a man of faith?
My God's become my friend, his name's Mortality.
Drop the sulfur-yellow flame and whisper what you want,
Those words will drown in my shouts of protesting your haunt.

I reach across my bed and feel just empty space,
My other hand rakes trenches across a bloody tear-soaked face,
Eyes are red, my feet are numb, in this dark frozen place,
Expose my face for no one so I do no harm,
I guess these eyes only do so much without the right amount of charm.