Desperately, I grip onto you for sanity. I would prefer
Every macabre thought you have over my own. I scream for you to
Pull me away from my own desolation and
Remorse, but it falls on deaf ears. I keep
Erupting into tears that I can no longer constrain. The
Superfluous reveries are gruesome at best and when it comes to thoughts of
Self-destruction, I am the maestro of death.
I want to live, but I am the venom in my own life.
Only when you pluck away my rigid fingers from your arm, I realize
No one is concerned. This was inevitable. Nothing can help me.
