Self-worth is a word that I never had time to learn

Vile was a woman
Or was it bile?
The bit of stomach acid that comes up and burns your throat on its way out when you're vomiting after you've already projected your stomach contents all over for everybody to see, was a woman

This is heart station calling all limbs, don't panic yet but a fights about to begin, and if you want to survive you better pick the right side or you'll be ejected from the rest of our skin.

This is brain station, what's going on, sensors telling me something gotta be wrong
Wait, there's someone in here
We are not alone said the mind to itself

Crashing through the wall came the heart soldiers sneak assault, capturing the brain and taking control of the body again

Why do I persist to exist when the nearest exit is just a slit of the wrist away

Poets speak in spills of sarcasm and satire
Soul searing and smooth saying sentences salvaged from their sins
Stop starting signs and sigh soaked sincerities seep from their seething seams
Soap suds sit in their mouths while supplying
supplementary information seemingly from a somber soul
sought after by so few socialites
Poets speak solely from the soul, as no other place would suit their words a safer home

He says he misses the days when we used to do nothing.
I said those days are dead.
She says it's like a high-pitched whirring noise way back in her head.

Everyone's so salty now, trapped in a can of mixed nuts.

She says his stasis is driving her insane.
He says she's already wasted the better half of her brain.
I said it seems we're always caught between two extremes,
but I could give a flux.