Suffice it to say that I find myself often enough living in a time without any visual referent
By which I can emotionally access my life, my past, or substantial meaning directly or critically thereof
In other words
Get real
Broken, burdened, told them, curtains
Here
Somehow, some way, I've got to find a lead
To substantiate, to repress my heinous need
If I can suppress it I'm sure to heed the call
And bring about the end and death unto us all
I feel
Sober, burned down, death is certain
Steeled
Tried, contrived for sure, and peeled down past my skin
Don't you know, my friend, there's nothing meaningful within
If I die before I wake my bones will burn in flames
After all these years my face is pain imbibed, ingrained
Oh I'm fallow and short of breath
It's sickening, and I'm sure that you'll agree
But I've done my best
And I'm hollow
Hate
Is this just my imagination, or is this real
Greed
Is this where you go when you're evil
Lies
I've never believed in a hell
Pain
Until one day I looked deep inside myself