I laid down,
And puked off the side of my bed,
I felt no better,
So I sat in my hands and cried,
and felt my **** growing on my thigh.
Great, I thought,
Lonely and not bought.
I stood up and fell,
I broke and I melt,
Indeed I ****** and I splurt,
But still my heart did not ****.
I guess the pieces were too tiny,
too embeded in the tears,
The burns sank throughout,
Even into my lonely ****.
The puke that laid upon my floor awoke,
Amassed and made into a form,
What was it, Who are you I said,
It gurgled blood and spoke to my mind,
I am your illness, your future, your past, your present.
Submit as you have and you shall be destroyed,
Struggle more as you would and I shall only laugh.
I saw its face, it became clear.
The beast with seven seven's and one six.
Almost perfect in its imperfections,
The face of my faults a trinity of disgusting.
The life of my mother dead on the floor,
That one cheating *****,
And the girl who I adored and left for nor,
I suppose...
Yes I suppose as I laid down,
Choking now, choking more,
This was all written.
Long, long ago,
In a book I'll never know.