Does my skin have to feel like paper From the inside out Do I have to feel so gutted and hallow A stringy shell An awful stench An emptied corpse I want to dig within it
Dont get too close Or I'll get cocky Stare in awe Only when distanced And self-depricated From that my pedestal is built You see me raised In my only light When yourself lowers
I am the last of them I am what remains And only what remains All those before me Who walked besides me And reside in me If they saw now What remained I am sick of To be continued I am sick of This nonsense