Where were you when life dripped off my chin?
Intaking's a sin. You're a sinner.
I can't eat dinner, I'm not hungry.
It means nothing. THIS MEANS NOTHING.
It's the mirror, and it's controlling.
Reloading another bullet for a throat that's decomposing, and
as acid clambered up my mouth, I had quick thoughts of death.
A moment where flesh and bone may rot away the failed flavor,
yet a knotted mass of pain I'll never lose stings today,
gauging my limbs until nothing remains of me.
This pain is an everlasting parasite, and I cannot be saved,
for this nasty sickness is called a brain to me.