The weak, the elite
The best at misery...

Mourning death
Is like craving desire...

Their hands are red
From the lives...

Pieces of pain
Fit humbly together...

Although it may be murky
Water rushes by...

Nobody sees anybody
Just a blurred version of fate...

One by one
They're chosen...

I write to calm the silence
To compromise its' ruse...

Afraid to go outside
To talk on the phone...

If I were to speak
(So softly I'd say...

Stolen identity
No longer myself...

What a tangled web we weave
what we get is what see...