My thoughts are rotted and my soul smells like sulfur.
Violence has become habitual, spirituality has become vexatious.
I'm a ****** scene, the bright yellow on the caution tape.
My brain , my heart , they still need to make the distinction that there in the same body.    
Emotions have a deficiency so I yoke them up and ******* them to people.
Long enough in an abyss and your suffering starts to suffer.

Being beautiful, respect ? What's the point ?

I want to die with scars on my faces.
I want the broken bones, the bruises.
I can't go out with this charming face, it isn't honest.
I don't want to be a copy of a copy of a copy.
I can't control my shakes I shouldn't be enjoying this