Foul and morose is the mind of this soul.
How badly I want to tear my flesh from my bones.
Reach inside and form my heart into an iron lump.
Grab my brain and tear it down it's symmetrical half-line.
I long to eat bullets and wash it down with Clorox.
Why must I feel like this?
All I can think about is how metallic my own blood would taste.
Of how pretty the scarlet would look
On the backdrop of this living room.
One day, I'll find the courage.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 1:16 PM UTC
Foul and morose is the mind of this soul.
How badly I want to tear my flesh from my bones.
Reach inside and form my heart into an iron lump.
Grab my brain and tear it down it's symmetrical half-line.
I long to eat bullets and wash it down with Clorox.
Why must I feel like this?
All I can think about is how metallic my own blood would taste.
Of how pretty the scarlet would look
On the backdrop of this living room.
One day, I'll find the courage.
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