I have already passed, but walk the earth as a corpse My organs are rotting, my throat barely talks No human interaction, in weeks or in months No more family left living; my friends have all gone.
I walk the streets at night, in my head, as I dream Visions endlessly crossing my mind as I scream As the belt round my arm makes the arteries grow I’ll part the skin, as the crimson seas of sanguine blood flow
I need a mortician, or a doctor, or a shrink. To dissect inside my mind and see what makes me think There’s something wrong with me My only mental state There’s something wrong with me Just self-targeted hate There’s something wrong with me I aim to end it all There’s nothing wrong with me Allow fate to throttle this life from my feeble hands
I only eat to fuel my body as it rots. Internal necrosis of my organs No motivation when you have deceased I'm so sick of this fucking existence Screams of despair I hear in my head Spark up the bong to drown out their sounds Now the demons emerge from the void Whiskey will banish these horrible visions
Fantasies of bullets shattering cerebrum As the tip of the round compresses the brain Struggling as I'm asphyxiated by twine Final memories of regret but it's too late Clawing at my throat as the sharp fibres pierce my skin The irreversible decision has been made No turning back
I choose to live to sleep all day, for that moment of silence, before reality and my consciousness slips away, is the closest to which my worthless existence can experience, that sweet moment of death.
I have many means to end it all, but still I choose to live, Thoughts of not experiencing scares me, so instead I choose to live. I can’t get my carcass out of bed I require a doctor for the dead Somebody call a morticianTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.