My Labor

My labor is vain, it proffers itself
as balm to midnight's desperate hour,
I sing as a help to my helplessness,
listen in, I'm beggar, all of me free

all about is the raw unravelling
of gentle intent, as if every thread
were so corrupt, bent headlong for default,
hatred surging out from within, love lost

no part is pity, the house is empty,
resonates …