23[23]23 - Weeping Wound

Pain

Pain

Pain

Pain

Pain

Pain

Pain

At the ripe age of almost too young to remember

I was baptized in the regret of befriending these insipid ferals

That watched me ache when I was prodded with sticks

Remember the pop of the cork and the one in the bat that hit my forehead

Split open

Like the letter you left

On my mother’s doorstep

Showing everyone’s a threat

They want me dead

They’ll kill me with loneliness

But I was born and bred by the fog to fight back

Tooth and nail, motherfucker, I’m never going back

It was always the plan to end it all at 23

I might still be going out, but not for nothing

A statement

To prove to all of you I was meant to be a god

Even if divided by my muse mental illness and addictions

Do it

Even if divided by the fact I never fit in

I don’t want to anymore, you wasted piece of shit

I don’t respect delusion

Manipulation-induced confusion

I’m sick of all of you

Never fit in, you didn’t fucking want me to

It’s for the best, don’t want to be like the rest

Complacent and weak wherever they lay their heads

So fuck

The way I feel

Count your sheep

Count your dead

Count the bottles in cradles and mothers who swallow dirt instead

Count your sheep

Count your dead

Count your blessings, 'cause when my time comes they’ll all know what you did

2, 3, at 23

Make it stop

You can’t make me, no

Things would make more sense

With a fucking hole in my head

I was born and bred

I was born