Most of you suffer and whine
When you're called swine
Or other vulgars
That are not sugars
But no sympathy is to come
When I moan from
Inside and out from nothing
And hope for something
But what reality is those who complain
Do get sympathy for their pain
My pain is inside and slowly is getting me
Eating my flesh as it comes and then I'll never be free
Because my soul will be used
From everything I held in through abuse
All of it is getting to me now
And its popping up pink and red and real loud
