Shorn of apocryphal pride,
The locks falls 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