I take my tea with drops of melancholy.

A cigarette between my exhausted fingers.

I remember the day you wished that I was dead and you're the only one who saved me from the jaws of the hungry wolves.

I was a cowedly sheep stained with hatred and dowsed with remorse, waiting for anger to burn me up.

I had no idea I was living with the beast.


My soul is an inch away from non-existence.

The soles of my feet are decaying and I'm weak.

The fire is gone and I wonder what you'll do with my remaining ashes.


I will remain sinful and insane.

I still will remain regretful and tired.

I remain sculpting better strangers than my own loved ones.

Yes, I will remain living with the beast.

No, I won't come to you any more as my saviour, feeding me bowls of guilt.