I have paced around this garden. i have drawn a breath of memory loss. i have breathed in and forgotten to contemplate the cost.
in my hands and at the ends of my arms, bleeding from the wounds I seem to glorify, and held to gather all my blood if its warm, there my bonds are tied.
this submission is my only sense of bliss. my addiction is repetition of worthless fucking things I've tried and failed.
I have paced around this garden. I have found all of my inability. I have eaten what was rotten, the fruit of instability.
im still waiting for someone to tell me why I've set this fire to my hopeless fucking life of lies; told cause Im afraid of myself.