I'm prophetic and live my life through others words,
I'm socratic and will accept death when it's my turn.
All my knowledge is fulfilled with conjecture,
I'm painfully obsequious when involving niche lectures.

I'm fitting with paranoia and it riddles my brain;
Obsessed with the thoughts of passing away,
As time slips away quicker and quicker everyday.

My perception is perceived but acknowledge my sentience and you'll see;
There's a dark soul deep inside of me.

Tonight feels like my last fight as I write with a knife;
My sallow eyes drift aside as my hope for a better life resides,
And the pen I call a knife inches closer to stealing my life.
As I lay back and stare into the black corner of this one-track world of false fact;
I realise in my transient fit of thought that there's no going back.

My perception is perceived but acknowledge my sentience and you'll see;
There's a dark soul deep inside of me.