my reflection is a skeptical fear of bruising cuts as soft as a fresh gash because these contridictions can be like razors cutting down slow to end all of the apathy to cover my scars covering all thoughts of conception endure hated contrast of moments broken into clusters of tales my lungs are fading into black gasps for scarce lag of vanity a collection of lies infest the wound leaving deaths door open for me a final soul of criminal intent will be found and convicted memories existing down the long path with my lifes embrace holding on while I pick up pieces and my fingertips burn away unable to realize identity and nothing will cange the horror ravish legions come to burn it away punishment painto impose on torment a child sinning, a haunting gratitude blasphemy in cursed followers
painto, cange, contridictions, lag, skeptical