Not settling for less

I wouldn't make a very good sacrifice

I could never pay off anyone's sins

When I've already offered myself to no avail

And can't even absolve my own.

My organs for research, my hair to stuff pillows,

My possessions to the babbling gypsy woman

To be bartered as magical artifacts,

My words to make them blink.

. . . My soul

For what purpose and to whose benefit?

Who would I redeem and

What in my death would I honor?

Make me a martyr the day I'm

Of any substantial worth whatsoever.

Don't let me dream of getting ahead of myself;

Stop me while I am giving

Any semblance of spiritual progress,

If even just holding my own.

Don't let me fall more behind

Unless it is to start over,

Don't let me submit to ties that bind

If they be not in the hands of a lover.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

It would take more work to be rid of me and to purge my soul than to exist blindly, a passive bystander.

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