cough up yr misery lungs cough up whatever words u were spoonfed before u knew what words were
god,vermin,what have they done to u
u told me this is what chains feel like,tight bound against ******* silk
tell me,vermin,does it hurt to have yr eyes pecked out?does it hurt to be wrong,vermin?
yr a disgrace(is that what they told u?) but god u look nice tonight
i can see the bags underneath yr eyes outlined by every bad thing u've ever said
god u look beautiful
im waiting for a train.no,im waiting for ten trains,all going in the same direction
24-hour unrest system and all u can think to say is "dead birds
make good pets"

there's blood drying under my nails and i can still taste the blood in my mouth
i keep scratching and clawing at myself
a self-induced appearance of leprosy without the actual disease
i'm biting my lips, my mouth, my nails
there are strips and chunks of my own flesh sticking in my throat
i guess you could say it's a bit ironic that i'm choking on myself, that i'm slowly turning myself inside out
maybe if i just scratch harder, scrape faster
(scratch and sniff but with flesh and blood)
god i need to see open wounds I need to open every single bump in my skin
i yank out my hair and eat the skin off my fingertips but it's ok i don't need it
i claw open the side of my face and i don't need it, i don't need any of it
i need to smell blood, to touch it, taste it
i tripped and scraped my knee open and let me tell you i savored that moment
i hate getting hurt but i love the aftermath
sore throbbing fingers and blood in my mouth that's what i live for
jesus bled from every pore and i envy him
i'm a monster but the only one i'm killing is myself so it doesn't really matter
i don't really matter
maybe if i scratch enough i'll dig a better person out of this skin and maybe they won't smell like death
maybe they will be whole and maybe they'll be able to stand it
one, two, three new scabs on my shoulders, my neck, my face
one, two, three scars on my arms, my legs,  my back
i'm no vampire but i still need blood on my hands and it's sure as hell not innocent blood because it's mine
one of these days i'm going to fall apart and i mean that literally
gnawing on my own bones will take it's toll i'm going to collapse in a pile of my own organs and i'm going to enjoy it
it will smell like blood

There's very little to do
on a morning like this
except perhaps complain
about everything around.

How:

The sun is too bright,
the sky is too blue.

Newspaper says Congress
isn't doing much for the country
but it's the President's fault.

How:

the clouds are so bloated,
the birds are so loud.

And where are those **** glasses?
And where are those papers?
And where is the pen?

The pen is out of ink.

Step on a Lego.
Yell at the wife.

80 killed in bombings across
far away desert land but no worry,
they were most likely terrorists.
Most likely.

Mail's here and the dog is barking
at a guy earning minimum wage.
Why care? He brought bills.

Who will save the world?
No one. Not this morning.

Son is graduating high school soon.
University costs more than a Ferrari.
Costs rising. More bills. More debt.

Breakfast is ready.

How:

the eggs are bland,
the toasts are cold.

The bacon is greasy,
the hashbrown is burnt.

How:
How:
How:

Maybe in the evening a bomb will drop.

"Did you hear about the neighbors?"
"No, hon."
"It's bad. They -"

How:

the tree is bending,
the wind is howling,

somewhere else.