Untitled
The tender touch of agony itself
Hums in my ear
It's blissful melody decaying my core
The comfort of destruction
A pill to take the pain away
The annihilation of personality
The utter obliteration of individuality
Becoming who we are is harder that forgetting
White coats say it's wrong
With their smiles and their frowns
Don't confuse the death of your soul
With the birth of the new age Melodrama
That sinks ito your putrid masquerade
That pulls the strings on your veracity
That transmits you to the depths of your despair
By disguising the one and only thing of which we govern
It is our obligation to die
Out of necesity we cull the beliefs of the estranged
We break from the alienated
Becoming more human and less kind
How can we remember when we dance to forget
Letting go of your inahabition
Being one is what we are afraid of but strive to mantain
I'd rather be less human and more dead
Copyright © Stacey Brackley | Year Posted 2013
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