untitled (under development)

I will always feel sorry for myself
A macabre imaginer
And dreamer of over dramatic themes
I want to tear at tonsils
To feel the bitter pain of screams
For where I find the frantic friendliness
Of figures in deep mire
I found that they were merely figments
Ensnared in tangled household wire

And I slither to the sound of shedding skin
Do I seem jolly with my grin
Forsaken and bottled to begin
With morals that seem mottled
Distance has always been my thing