what have i become. .
what have you made of me, mother?
what have you sculpted, brother?

carved to perfection,
into an ivory soulless wreck,
a hopeless mess, high off morbidity and agony,

carved to perfection,
to attend to your lavish needs,
of a stripped youth,
hidden under a blood stained carpet floor,

and you do it so lovingly,
as i reach for air,
when you've buried me
six feet under.

do you know how you live
when the worst has happened
you have no expectations,
no wants or needs,
you become confined in your own misery,
feeding off the scars you left scattered in your bathroom floor

your only viable option,
will be letting go,
your best option,
is
laying
six feet under.

i could move alright,
but in a locked rotting hell,
i could breath alright,
but only toxic suffocating breaths,

what is the point of breathing,
if you're going to suffocate on it anyway,

living,
is not a matter of life or death,
having a soul,
inhaling,
no,
you see,
i passed away,
lost my soul,
along time ago,
but i can still inhale
my own bitterness,
i can still stand
right in the burning hellfire,
of my own despair,
i can still wait for the rainfall,
thinking it might wash away
my everlasting grave,
and all it did,
is turn me into dust,
even more,
i've held my ashes,
as i was casting away,
but my grave
has been dug too deep,
six
feet
under.

i'm losing myself,
and i can't control it,
they made me,

i'm losing myself,
i can't contain it,
they made me,

i'm losing myself,
and soon,
i'll become
nothing but a body,
with no soul
just the one
they made.

gather all your imperfections
and sculpt them together
as it becomes
everything
i ever
wanted