Decaying skin like mushy black tissue paper
Pull some off and stick it on the wall

I have brain damage I can't find the walk
And I can't find my tongue
But I love to talk

Stare with acid eyes at the wall
Write another poem to Dearah
"Dearah" autocorrects to "search"

What a strange coincidence

I have become strange
My skies have become brown and gray
But I'm still ****, I guess
What a mess

**** me now
**** me now
**** me now

No, god ******
It has nothing to do with her
Yes she is ******* lying.