Psychosis

[st_blackmilk]

There's a refraction in my mind, breaking waves, wringing hands; there's nothing left to save.
Ideally I'd lie in my shadow, Ideally I'd fall right in.
Sitting at the center of a gravity well, I can't tell where it stops and I begin.
There's a relay that's on a delay, there's a fine line too far gone.
The circuit's incomplete, one can't sleep nor can it eat, and there's so much left undone.
Synapses sparking and backfiring, neurons frayed and incomplete.
I'd pray to god if I had one, please martyr your blessed saints.
There's a tumor in my mind, a canker in the stem, there's always reason that begins to end.
Backhanded altruism, bitch slapped by kindness, kissed by a mouth filled with sickness.
There's an infection that I worship, a cancer I adore, I pick as it grows, and I keep it sore.
There's a tree shedding all it's leaves, falling away all traces of me.
Yearning to be like what I see, devoid of any empathy, I'm shedding what remains of my humanity.
Black hands hold me down, Black hands grip my heart, watered down recycled words are tearing me apart.