My obsession with self-improvement
That’s leading me back into my self-destruction
I’m loving the dark clouds it brings overhead
Making me feel comfortable in self-pity
So why won’t you wallow in the filth with me

I don’t have my mother’s depression but I feel like I’m getting close
I’ve inherited my father’s repression stopping all these emotions from spilling out
The world’s full of doom so won’t you grab my hand
While I try to understand the thoughts swimming through me

Darling, your mascara’s on my chest
The glow from your eyes illuminating my bedsheets
Covered in cum and sweat
We’ve both been getting high on the chemicals
From our insides
But alas once this fades
Will our feelings be spared and will we still remain?

Bend my faith over itself and burn it on the alter
Maybe I can pray for a better day
But is there anything better than praying that you don’t clean
These dirty sheets that are going to remind me of you
When you’re gone


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