on a empty residency,
a siluette with no content,
no body or soul.
only inside me you'll find hell,
take a look inside me,
stare in to the abyss through my eyes.
my heart no longer is,
my soul never was.
and i?
i'll never be.
to understand the dephts,
of something superficial,
or,
perhaps,
to love being hated.
i find confort in chaos,
i am addicted to pain,
and, has if it was a drug,
i depend on it.
as much as i can take,
keep hitting me,
stab my back,
sting my soul,
poison my mouth,
with your toxic tongue.
pierce the vests i wear,
vests made of silk,
silk made from all the webs,
webs of lies,
lies that are real,
and a reality that isn't true.
the pain of losing what we never had,
and to hold on to what never happened,
are both things unaturally natural,
to me,
maybe to you too.
we are hollow,
shallow,
hard marshmallow,
scented by death,
tainted by life,
and killed by love.
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