It's 3:51 a.m. again and I haven't slept in weeks;
Darkened eyes for a taste of God, an ailment, and a leash.
Those precious things that were cornerstones of a precious simple life
Are now precious victims of a 'self' driven dream outlined in shades of Christ.
My strength was long invested in an angel with one wish:
To hold my hand until she died, forever sipping bliss.
And now my stregth is a viscous sword that strikes the ones I love
And they wait to be further demolished cause solace is lodged in those I touch.

Such fulfillment resembles a vomit soaked sanctuary - killing a new spot inside me;
Depression replaced with a new persecution - of victim and culprit I guide me.
OF VICTIM AND CULPRIT I GUIDE ME!
There's a psychotic demon inside me...
There's a sensitive loving retractable heart - if I give you my wound, will you hide me?
If I bleed you a trail will you find me?
WHEN I PUT YOU THROUGH HELL AND THEN ASK FOR YOUR EMPATHY: EAT YOUR CONTEMPT FOR ME.

Knowing my penance occurs as I write through this sin with a relentless vengence

LETTING YOU KNOW THAT MY LIFE IS A FANTASY SUITABLE FOR THE FETISH OF A BLEEDING DEMON BEGGING FOR GOD'S FORGIVENESS.