Yes, I

Pitter patter
On a bitter pattern
Of broken memories that I chitter chat about with little matter

And according to the middle latter statement

I'm a little out of place when
I reminisce about that nasty past

That mask... THAT mask.

The one that covered the area where my face belongs


Which matched PERFECTLY with the shoes I would step in **** with

Telling myself:
"My socks are still clean"

Thinking I could use more chemicals than a Sheen to be Pristine
But that's just artificial heat from a blanket with no seams..

I try to tear apart this quilt
Threaded with empty promises in vain

Inside veins that don't pump blood
They pump shame

I'll never be wrapped in this again..

Covered in unfamiliar skin
Wearing a questionable grin

When in the hell did I begin this transformation?

Self surgery.

Murdering false idols!

******* the very fabric of entertainment.

(Yes I can be a ****)

But I rock an S on my chest over the D..

I'm so sick

My thoughts are so vile
They will leave you ill on your lying lips

There is no use in trying to switch
The shattered reality you now have as a dying wish