while the burning world needed a god,
i needed a loving mother
but all i got was a cruel joke of a fraud.
yet, for old times' sake we have to pretend,
to love each other
and beyond the the ribcage, only on the inside,
my bitter, angry heart can safely rot.

i’m always screaming- you are my own flesh and blood!
so i ignore the cuts in my skin
wipe away reds beneath those eyes
and love you once again
our relationship filled with lies.

now, do you want a hundred, a thousand apologies, for ever being born?
i can't scratch my name off in crimson ink
so hand me a pen- then i may stab it out,
this beating sensation in my chest
that keeps my existence from being free
always begging for your mercy,
condolences, i'm sorry.