My head feels like a visit to the cranioscopist’s,
Like someone bored through it with a drill.
Inflamed and ill,
Like the ego of a billionaire philanthropist.
Flashbacks of “You”,
Got me off my tracks and feeling blue,
Stumbling around in pain, without a ******* clue.

My neck is aching,
My body is shaking,
My ******* soul feels like it’s breaking.
Volcanic unrest, putting my heart to the test,
Got manic anger strapped to my chest like a suicide vest.

I’m the spectre of truth, a hard hitter,
Like that last, smooth drink that fails your liver.
A lone wolf whose claws are made of words,
A man grown bitter and whose heart hurts.

My legs feel heavy and tired –
Is it now accepted to not have energy to even exist?
For that certainly isn’t how we’re naturally hard-wired.
I don’t know how to accept the illusion,
There seems to be no solution –
I look desperately, amidst the confusion.
I look for similarly empty eyes,
For those who do see the lies.
The only truth left is this;
He who murders lives, and he who loves dies.