Whored

Something must break in a man
For something to be achieved
To sow the seeds for future
Old deaths have to be grieved

The darkness must be present
To feel the existence of light
The conflict should ferment inside us
If we are to win, we have to fight

The poison must be consumed
For life to be resumed
In the name of being alive
Everyday, we have to die

A man must be bored

And his soul shamelessly whored

To breathe in the stench of truth

For, we need money even to write poems.

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We die a little everyday, with every decision we make.