The Logical Conclusion

Face down in waters impure, saturated with our sin.
Filthy memorobilia floating along this falsified River Styx,
serving as headstones to someone who couldn't take it.
Then: Bloated with hatred,
Now: Another waterlogged carcass.

Kiss the dirt, hug the walls, watch them take caresses,
Endless razorblade kisses marking a selfmade Martyr.
The natural conclusion comes down to them and us-
everyone dies for the cause, a better future.

The lack of dreams is bliss, with Misanthropy this bad,
that it eats away at you, and every one around you-
If we're still breathing, the problems still there,
I'f I'm still living...


We're a cancer, so is it cowardice to keep living, or
to kill yourself? The thoughts that plague the mind make
me want to shut it all up again, and shut inside myself.
The moments of thoughtlessness are bliss, ignorance
but sweet purity from these moments of absolute recognition
to a possible viewpoint. Subjective truth based on an
emotional truth corrosive, caustic in nature.

...I hate this.

I hate this.

I Miss Being Pure- Bitter Nostalgia For Innocence And Naivete.

Hate This- And So Much More.