It's 3: 51 A. M. Again and I haven't slept in weeks;
Darkened eyes for a taste of God, an ailment, and a leash.
Those precious things that were cornerstones of a precious simple life
Are now precious victims of a 'self' driven dream outlined in shades of Christ.
My strength was long invested in an angel with one wish:
To hold my hand until she died, forever sipping bliss.
And now my stregth is a viscous sword that strikes the ones I love
And they wait to be further demolished cause solace is lodged in those I touch.
Such fulfillment resembles a vomit soaked sanctuary - killing a new spot inside me;
Depression replaced with a new persecution - of victim and culprit I guide me.
Of victim and culprit I guide me!
There's a psychotic demon inside me...
There's a sensitive loving retractable heart - if I give you my wound, will you hide me?
If I bleed you a trail will you find me?
When I put you through hell and then ask for your empathy: eat your contempt for me.
Knowing my penance occurs as I write through this sin with a relentless vengence
Letting you know that my life is A fantasy suitable for the fetish of A bleeding demon begging for god's forgiveness.