Though quiet are my lips,
Rambunctious is my mind.
Though cold is my soul,
Warm is my crimson-stained skin.
Bitter-sweet the poison
That courses through my veins.
"Craft a self-made cure,"
The voices in me said,
"To forget all your sins."
Watch all my pain,
Flow swiftly away.
Not a sound escapes
As I slowly destroy
What is destroying me.