I'm traveling through Hell in a shroud of Daisies;
maybe my soul is sweet, but I still wanted to be there.
I stand in the pit of punishment, not for myself, but, in replacement of the abuser.
Why am I worshiping him?
I'm not sure, but we've painted each other as villains.
You hold all that vengeance and power within you,
but I know the truth inside you.
You're a pathetic, dangerous man.
I've faced enough torture while I was alive in my heart and soul, but now
only my body is left standing intact.
Maybe my suicide woud bring you a state of guilt
when you're 40 and your veins are soaked in it.
I was sent away to a wasteland of "self-help!"
"We're helping you!" Someone cried as they shined flashlights in my face all night long.
"Checks!"
Then there were screams and threats.
"Checks!"
"How did you sleep?"
Like shit, sir. But maybe I shouldn't tell you that.
"...Because sleep is an important compass to how you're doing mentally."
Maybe they'll keep me here forever if I tell the truth.
I'd better lie.
The walls with a small ledge near the ceiling,
A miniature shelf and the top of the hallways and rooms:
built for some form of architectural design.
I loved them.
But, who cares about the ledges? ME! Because they're the only interesting things to look at besides this eerie lit hallway at night. There were crayons lining the top of them all.
Shane liked to throw them up there when he wasn't eating a bar of soap.
Those nurses were so mean.
They don't care about my health.
They're swimming in their own bullshit excuses for what they say to "help" us.
"It's your body, do what you want with it."
Ok! I'll make sure to mutilate it tonight while you aren't looking.
