A face behind the razor blade,
I'm not feeling well today.

A section seen,
A lover’s prude.

Cast iron shackles,
I made for you.

Needless thoughts,
Superfluous desire.
Burn…
Their names by funeral pyres.

Disoriented,
Lost at the seed of my doubt.

Directions put forth,
Yet I'll never get out.

Fear is ablaze,
Travel’s the cost.
Bereft of love,
I am the next Faust.

Empty. encased.
Just what did I lack.

Lost within the everblack...
As they say you'll never come back.

Learnt from heaven,
That hell is above,
For the needless screeches,
Helped them find love.

There's always a way.
That's what he preaches.

Yet when I look back,
I'm soiled by leeches.

Dissociative maniac,
What is it you seek?
Happiness… Tranquility…
Is really quite bleak.

So move forth in your shackles,
So delicately made.

Prudence be withered,
By your own morbid face.

So you’re not feeling well today?
We'll just take a razor blade.