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The Confessions of a Sinner.
Vindictive Suggestions.

I could never seem to shake this crippling sense of repetition.
You've got your pattern, and I have mine too.
What are we really doing, here?
This isn't some kind of competition; and your anger is far overdue.

You say you never wanted more.
So what am I waiting for?
You keep running from me.
Yet I'm still here, staring after you.

This itching paranoia is slithering beneath my skin,
Under my nails, through my hair,
As it sinks into my brain. What more could I be?
I ask and yet I know.
Everything you are is all that I've wanted and all that I could ever be.

Do I make sense in this blurry vision of hypocrisy?
Are you contradicting me?
Could you even see,
Everything I've done as it all falls apart from your high level of hypersensitivity.

I can feel it,
My soul slipping between my fingers so cold.
And you just stand there watching.
Wishing for death to take hold.

Remember me,
The black side of your ingenuity.
Now you're trying to throw me away,
And you're terrified because I just wont fade.





 
 
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