My insecurities often scream louder than the little voice inside of me. Broadcasting and blasting out of stylish speakers for all the boys and girls to see. I've been held down, by demons with travelling cloaks, woven with invisible tapestry clutched about their throats. So to remove the words I have so carefully purged out my enigmatic system, the ones caught and stuck inside my chest with unusual strength and mysticism. I took my hand, jammed it deep down through my mouth gagged on my fore fingers a second longer in order to drag them out. The vile words, drowning in biled verse, I drug them out through dreary space and hung them with my shirts I aired out days before. The score of the fight lies not in the aired out and forgotten, but in the formations of tones and phonetic clones tangled in my web of rotten sceptical insinuations. Indelible infractions, and taking back my sinful actions are recanting hate, dispelling fate burning holes within my reactions. They've altered my vision, long blurring scenes of scattered days glass nails shattered in iron blenders banishing frantic forays.
I've found it easier, less chaotic to accept instances where I've felt at home. I've come to enjoy devilish voices when I've lost it because at least then, I'm not alone.