It's more appealing when it's not

There's a certain comfort in being sick        
(fucked off in the head)        
vapid when the remedy is the disorder        
Inebriated from the truth        
that you'd rather be fucked by a bottle than a man    
Become drunk on the deranged affection from addiction      
on that sweet taste of acrid nectar infused with sin    
It's hard to breathe in the silence after midnight        
when the moon can strangle if you let it        
and you're devoured by the eclipse of solitude        
with lungs engulfed by anxiety        
       
Animosity holds no pity for a monster        
who's sold their soul to the streets for a smoke        
Hate is worthless once your will has given up        
just like everyone else did        
They can see you dying the way they are    
avoiding the devils repercussion reflected in every feature       
cracked smiles and sunken eyes        
You've become identical like the mirrors opposite  
Reality often beats people into reclusion        
but it's easy to find solace here        
where the only lies are your own and empty faith        
       
It must be human nature to be intrigued        
by delirium and the infatuation of sorrow        
To throw away any notion of love or a goddess        
romanticized before your demons broke you        
and you became lost in personal nirvana        
There's a certain comfort becoming blanketed by sickness        
because, sometimes, it's the only way to feel        
when there's nothing left to dream        
Everything is more appealing when it's not        
and you wouldn't have it any other fucking way        
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
       
i guess neither would i