October 17, 2008
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As skin crawl over your bones,
you scream and writhe, helpless
to the pained and howling moans.
Don't be such a bloody mess.

You say you see them coming,
the nervous breakdowns and mental attacks.
So why do you sit there strumming
your guitar to all the wrong tracks?

You reached out for a human's hands,
only to find your own covered with bugs.
By now, you feel it your glands,
the invasion of an addiction to drugs.

You never believed you would know pain,
but it's too late to realize you've got nothing to gain.
Your tongue speaks lies to the preacher,
but that's nothing compared to the creature,
the monster that buried your sanity.

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