Always held so strictly by placid imitations of divine
Visual master sickly to those who remain ever blind

Feed by egotistical mischief meant to nourish only descent
Relishing in despair as though only true pain is the intent

Bruised are these fake shells that fester from the inside
Never realizing that a soul does not have to sold to die

Yet trapped inside it's own cage as a maker of self ruin
Far too lost in the feeling of sinking teeth into another undoing