this is my introduction to something i never wanted to make up

something that needs makeup

to hide all the rust it built up

in the winds of an apocalyptic sky

see, there i go again, with the same jargon, the same death-comes-for-all

i’m so sick of my own talk

i’m so thirsty for new words that don’t sound like mine

for words that don’t find ****** rhymes

for voices that don’t herald the end of days

because my eyes don’t see what’s really real

they’re seeing only what is metaphorical

what is above is not a stalagtite sky

and what is between my toes isn’t the smell of rot

and my flesh is not actually decaying

the way i feel my soul has been

see, i started out trying not to be me

to conjure something that changes me

but this identity comes down like a deadweight

tied around my straining neck

screaming in my ears, words

words in my head, it’s all too much

it’s all too real

get out