Titles Are For Reference Purposes Only

Content in my reason, I indulge my future distress Feckless friends and fiends lie...together Our homemade misery surmounts Indeed, we do have a habit of making habits This Intention for contention is our invention A fleet of reckless daggers flow from my mouth I decimate past and present alike Thus, the future flees from my nearsighted discourse My dreams vehemently elude themselves far from my sight Devoid of ambition, I fall from the sky with Lucifer and all of his friends These means will never be justified Choleric, we are vexed by our sugar-coated ends This silence overtakes us We are lucid metaphors of our former-selves I lie awake and wake to lie My half-empty bottle is never fulfilled, and never content My heart is a home of chaos A passionate portrait of selfishness I am a kin to fruitless endeavors Forgetting sense, I meagerly float throughout this wretched discourse...