My faith in you
is dissipating.
Like boiling water
disappearing into steam.
No, this isn't a dream.
The truth isn't always kind.
Kind of like you.

I hope you suffer,
wounds deeper than
emotional scars beneath the dermal layer.

You're truely not worth the air,
you consume.
A zealot. Heretic turned holy.
An abomination hiding behind closet alcoholism.

I'd hate to be your  liver.

Depression is, living in a snowglobe.
Watching the world move around you.
While you're dealing with the guilt
of waking up disappointed for being alive.
Mania is just making up for lost time.

Courage is only fear ,
who's said it's prayers.
Incantations won't ulter this reality.

You can't negotiate your way
out of hell's emptiness.
Language knows no boundaries.

But Latin is more effective.
Despite our constant speaking in tongues.
This is exhausting.

Like a Venus retrograde.
I'm screaming on the edge of nothing.
Waiting for your echo,
to bounce back to me.

If time doesn't exist.
Then why does mine feel so wasted?
One day was a nice thought.

But I can't live in no man's shadow.
I cast a few of my own.