These days, not much comes into this weary mind.
I am finally beat down, I think.
I think I gave in to life, cruel mistress as she is.
I have my passion curbed and my hunger bottled,
and hopefully I will not shed blood for some time.
Although, I feel it's been too long since I've ripped you open
and laid inside your wounds.
I am picking at my scabs in idle wonder,
asking the kinds of questions they teach good girls not to think.
The how's and why's and causes of all that is bad,
and good.
I cannot understand the concepts I once cherished.
I cannot feel the fires that once burned.
I am becoming numb, and angry,
and violent as ever.
I am hellbent on destroying something-
probably myself.
But it all means nothing, if you believe that we live and we live
and we live
just to die.
On the flipside, of course, everything matters so much more.
I crave experience and adventure and new skin.

I cannot deny my need for blood and violence forever,
but hopefully the wounded will understand.