I was burning in my own torture chamber,
While you baked a pie and split it with your sister.
I never walked my own path, just where I was dragged.
You think I didn't eat salt and razorblades for breakfast?
The throbbing beat that is the cadance of my death
Is inaudible to you I suppose.
If go away is your mantra.
Excuse me,
I'll let you get back to meditating.