Rotting alive.

I contend with the concepts of companionship, just to see that no one has had the same interest at heart as me.
At a loss of friends and to be honest, I'm perfectly content with it
I'm through playing games and surrounding myself in hate.

I feel I've wasted so much of my life crowded with rats and snakes.
These scheming, selfish fucks, who just take and fucking take.
I give and give to end up with spit, shit, and piss on my face.
It's time someone laid you scum-sucking parasites to waste.

I've learned that wasting time isn't wasting time at all.
We're just learning new lessons to adapt and evolve.
We don't change, just learn to manipulate the world around us so we don't make the same mistakes.
I've learned from mine, now get the fuck out of my face.

Every day is another day trying to cope with morality, mortality, and spirituality.
Trying to make decisions that will better my happiness, but all I do is create a befuddled mess.

Am I to be the one who bleeds himself dry while no one bats a fucking eye.
I'm sick and fucking tired of all the friendly exploitation.
I"m sick and fucking tired of being afraid to feel the way I feel.
I'm sick and fucking tired of biting my tongue and not speaking my mind.

I'm in quite the bind.

My life rides on what I built with my own hands and it just disgusts me.
Burn this whole fallacy to the ground, its just a lie fabricated to dull the echoing chorus of nightmares in my mind.
Just a lie fabricated to emancipate me from all the other lies.
From what I've been able to gather, you are all blind to what's dancing in front of your eyes.

And I'm sick of being bled dry so I'll tear out your throat and gouge out your eyes.
I'm just some stirred shit, you're all just flies, feeding off my disease so you all can thrive.

Every day is another day trying to cope with morality, mortality, and spirituality.
Trying to make decisions that will better my happiness, but all I do is create a befuddled mess.

I'm not a saint, just a cynic sinner.
Sipping cyanide cyclically, lost inside a distorted reality.
This world will be the death of me. My mind will be the death of me.
Singularity is just an anomaly.
Half-empty. Going full-monty.
Dabbling with my insanity, just to peel back the paint of my own psyche.
When the wave rolls back, I am what I perceive myself to be and
I am exactly what you say I am:
A demon, a monster, a mother fucking heathen.
Just vermin, it's certain, I'm headed towards curtains.
Exit stage left with a whole in my head.
The Devil Who Deceived Them is dead.
Dead.