Suffering Bastard

Shorn of apocryphal pride
The locks falls predicting strife
Cranium exposed
Denial of aesthetic
Push it
All of this burnt to ashes
All of this torn to rags
I don’t know what the fuck have I become?
Synapses snapping mortality decimated
Breakdown whiskey shifts hate into overdrive
Realizing it’s murder, murder, murder of self so clean
I don’t know what the fuck have I become?
Hand reaches out, desecrates impunity
Ripping away foundation’s identity
Replacing with shame
Transgression mythologized
Indiscretions immortalized
Anger inflamed with dry rot
Pushing towards severance
What a bloody mess
Visiting dark sites unknown
Grief lands like a ton of brick
All of this burnt to ashes
All of this torn to rags