They say, "they're just words,"
and they say, "they're just numbers,"
so then why the hell do I feel myself getting older,
and why the **** can I feel your rhymes in my bones?

They may be just words,
and they may be just numbers,
but they are killing me,
thinning my skin right down to my bones,
shedding off layers until there's nothing left,
my mind is a mess I can't make it stop,
this illness consumes me and leaves me
able to consume nothing at all
except all of those words and all of those numbers.

Sadly, I am those words, I am those numbers.