Here to die

I’m here
To die;
I’m not here
To serve,
Wash feet,
Condescend
Or
Answer
The
Asinine,
Much less
Calm
The fear
In their mind;
Never gave
A damn
About mine.
My angels
Serve me.
Managing
My inside,
I’ve been
Assigned.
I’m convinced
I don’t
Even need
To connive
To convince
Them to keep
Me alive.
Their reward
For
Enslavement
Is to cut my
Chord
At the command
Of the Lord,
Which
They’ve
attempted
To do
Many times
Before,
Maybe as
A warning
To me,
Who knows,
But it’s
Not my job
To appease.