Watch your lay figure passing away
with my frigid applause.

Your plastic face melts in my arms.
Radiant mannequin smile drowns slow in molten wax.
Erasing your identity, distorting your entire form
And leaving mess.

I am your shape corrector,
The sculptor of the revolting condition of your sanity.
Refrain from pleasure to run.
Face it.
You have a malignant form of an altered mind.

Your inutility has reached its climax.

Tell your friends you're worthless and throw yourself away.
Your golden swallow stumbles and falls down from the rooftop.


There are some reasons why I watch you die of regrets.
You can't realize the depth of pit.
I feel tedious about dissembling.
I feel tedious about this masquerade.

Frail legs walk unsteady ground.
A ravaged figure finds consolation
in a sorrow and awareness оf one's own defectiveness.
Frightened victim can't get rid of a villain.
It chose a path of prey.

Still being sad
'cause you're a part of it.
I still have no excuses.
So let's get nice.
No apologies.
Stop crying, don't waste your mascara.
I stabbed your back, I put a noose on your neck
Then watch your spirit miscarry.
It won't be fair if someone kicks that chair.
Just hang around, don't taint the floor.

I am the master of your predestination.
It feels nice.
The scratch of scissors cutting the rope sounds really nice.
Surrender. You're alive but it doesn't make much sence.
Stay.

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