Conflicted by humanity, for it never turns out right.
Guarded by insanity, while it all burns to night.









Destined to fail, or so I’ve been told.
My patience is weak and growing old.

Bruised and blemished, this rotten fruit hangs.
Pick it and eat it, digest and consume it.
Dependent on me, you bare your fangs.
Pelt me with words, I completely deserve it.

And though I know my days are numbered here
I’m still faced with the fear
of losing you
and
I walk slow
through the valley of the dead
and
Peace be with me and I feel
Sorry for the person who feeds off me

Smaller now in confidence
and letting loose upon my grasp
The one that holds reality
The world it comes to pass