I don't mean to be a reason for voices to higher
but my beauty is being ruined,
along with my adventures in discovering the unconscious mind,
so be a doll and turn that fucking light off.
There's never enough.
If there is too much, Greed tells me I need more,
or eh... Sloth? Either way,
I'm not ready. Even if Gluttony
somehow tears these sheets off of my skin,
my day will be destroyed, nonetheless.
Wrath already did reminding me of what I'm scheduled for
The effects of too much, and too little are identical.
Tongue acts as sandpaper, scraping the roof of my mouth,
lips like paste, stuck together
bones are what's left of a burning fire over night,
fingers stiff, needing to be broken to move again.
I have to wash this off.
I heard you the first time. Lower your voice.
Don't hate me if I spit toxic at this point.
Forgive me. I'm not like myself.
Five more minutes, let my eyes adjust.
