I don’t know what happened to my being.
Without the pain of a tormented life I can’t handle breathing.
It’s something that’s hard to keep conceiving, but why is every part of myself fleeting?
I don’t know how to gain what I once felt.
At least I feel more than just a shell.
But that doesn’t keep me from starting to dwell.
No one can go through this demented race, with their being so torn that it’s not even their true face.
So why do they keep it going?
It’s all lies that are unfolding.
Where the **** am I even going?
There’s no hope that’s showing.
I just want to feel the blade because death is the only salvation I’ll probably ever end up knowing.