Shorn of apocryphal pride, The locks fall predicting strife. Cranium exposed, Denial of aesthetic. Push it a little farther. All of this burnt to ashes, All of this torn to rags.
I don't know what the fuck have I become? Synapses snapping mortality decimated. Breakdown whiskey shifts hate into overdrive. Realizing it's murder of the self so clean.
I don't know what the fuck have I become? Hand reaches out desecrates impunity. Ripping away foundation's identity Replacing with shame.
Transgression mythologized, Indiscretions immortalized.
Anger inflamed with dry rot, Pushing towards severance. What a bloody mess. Visiting dark sites unknown, Grief lands like a ton of bricks. All of this burnt to ashes, All of this torn to rags...
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