I was created by society, A product of the world's sin. I tried not to let them change me, but they somehow found a way in. The images taunt me, and...
The street lamp flickers in the street outside, tears stream down the window panes, my nose pressed against cold glass. I stare at the moon and it stares back at me,
spinning round inside my head, ripping, tearing, wanting me dead. your words stab me in the heart, etching needle on skin, some kind of art. haunted pictures consume my dreams,
Can’t express, or articulate, The words in my head, can’t escape. Spinning like a merry-go-round, The soul deep inside, cannot be found. The hands holding me down, pulling me under,