Patterned obsessions have ruled my life,
presented as shadows or dreams that never die.
But are never fulfilled.
The healing eludes me, I sit here,
my wounds still fresh, my heart still broken,
lost in this life,
bored to the brink of insanity.
Faith so fleeting, comes and goes,
what have I got to believe in anyway?
the promise of things I have not seen,
my life remains this hell,
despite my prayers, and I have
given up inside.
I am surrounded by people who love me,
but can't know my soul, my fear, my pain,
which everyday haunts me, encasing me with
doubt and distrust and despair.
It is a decayed elegance that I now embrace,
I hold my head up high, look you in the eye,
but my soul wilts more every day, what you see is
not what you get.
Mutilated and desiccated,
as my soul dies a little more every minute