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Suicidal Initiation
Burden me with the error's committed throughout your life,
Let us both linger on them.
Your wretchedness is most welcome here,
We will peel the scabs from your wounds,
To pronounce the scars.
The separation of flesh, a suicidal initiation.
Let us don a gown to lay upon the gurney,
May It be the coroner who removes our sheet in the morning.
What addiction shall we trade today?,
You go cold and I’ll be sick.
The UV will grant us true vision,
But we must close our eyes.
Appreciate nothing but your self deprivation,
Allow the lucid fragments of your days to fuel new regret.
Drown your sorrows with your head in the sink,
Empty bottles licked dry are spread across the floor.
Hate yourself to inspire me,
Share this painful existence.
Carve a new path with a fork in my spine.
Dance the convulsion and chant the coughs,
Our fits shall provoke the obscenity of life's experience.
Contort our view of this world with a spiteful minds eye.
Are we insane if we claim the petals in the sky are squawking
So what if there are birds in those balloons,
Their beaks will not pierce the sides
May they guide our children into the blue to find the dreams of grief
Let us both linger on them.
Your wretchedness is most welcome here,
We will peel the scabs from your wounds,
To pronounce the scars.
The separation of flesh, a suicidal initiation.
Let us don a gown to lay upon the gurney,
May It be the coroner who removes our sheet in the morning.
What addiction shall we trade today?,
You go cold and I’ll be sick.
The UV will grant us true vision,
But we must close our eyes.
Appreciate nothing but your self deprivation,
Allow the lucid fragments of your days to fuel new regret.
Drown your sorrows with your head in the sink,
Empty bottles licked dry are spread across the floor.
Hate yourself to inspire me,
Share this painful existence.
Carve a new path with a fork in my spine.
Dance the convulsion and chant the coughs,
Our fits shall provoke the obscenity of life's experience.
Contort our view of this world with a spiteful minds eye.
Are we insane if we claim the petals in the sky are squawking
So what if there are birds in those balloons,
Their beaks will not pierce the sides
May they guide our children into the blue to find the dreams of grief
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