I hate myself as much as you do, eh.
I\'m the dampness that peels off the wall.
I feel ashamed,
just for existing.
I dirty everything I touch,
I am noise,
I am leftover,
a nuisance wherever I am.
Defend and attack:
a life impulse disguised as fury.
But in silence,
in repose,
all that anger becomes tears.
But that\'s for a whore.
He begins to write,
but he doesn\'t trust anyone anymore.
What do they expect him to do?
Why?
If in reality,
no one cared at all.
Everyone glosses over their guilt.
The cruelest exile
was losing my innocence.
I lose my soul searching
at the bottom of the trash.
And I dream,
I dream again
this endless cycle.
Constant drowsiness,
followed by insomnia.
If I don\'t come back,
don\'t look for me.
Maybe this time
I really did go too deep.