When your skin has been torn from your bones,And your life ripped apart,You have no choice but to part With the ways of old.Or continue on the same path,And refuse to fit the given mold.You can uproot the world with all your wrath,Lashing out without mercy,Your soul will turn dark,Turning others into swine like that of Circe.Until you rest unto your final bed, Where enlightenment will finally reign.There, you will only wish for the end,Your story a blood colored stain.Who will tell the story of your life,How you ruined it yourself?How you twisted the knife,In the wound of wealth. Everyone will know,The deeds you have done.How you hit that all time low,And didn't even try and run.Everyone will know of your affairs,Your flaw in amour. How you ruined them in pairs,Then shut the door.Everyone will know of your addictions,Your love for the putrid. How you made up various fictions,Like dreams that were oh-so-lucid.Everyone will know of your flaws,Which you embrace as your own.How you lived without laws,Without any thought to atone. What will they think, When they see what you have done?It will rise up quite a stink,And your relatives will be nothing short of stunned.Your friends will be shocked,And call you in rage.You will be mocked,Your name on the front page.They might cry,When they see how you have lied.But you will cry too,For you, too, have lost something of value. With your morality lost,What will you do?You have paid the cost,The cost to rue.  Today is new,you have a choice.Do you stay mellow?Or use your voice? You may choose to vocalize,And defend your good name.Then you will focalise, That you, too, are in pain.You will try to regain the sense of innocence,That you once upheld.But you will only be rewarded with wickedness;For happiness you will be withheld.But you will speak, regardless; Defending your own name.You will say that you are not heartless,And you do not deserve this notorious fame. You may choose to remain silent,Using not a word to defend against rumors.For their words are truly violentAnd only grow ruder.Some are true, though; And these are the truly malicious.For these you cannot veto, You cannot argue that they are fictitious.Each word is a blow to the heart,A stinging, bleeding gash.You begin to fall apart,As the words slash and slash This is the nature of exposure.A way of life in which is sempiternel. It is a wicked enclosure,Without hope of life eternal.You will never die,But you will live.You will not cry,But will survive. Get up, peasant.For this is your own gash,It may not be pleasant,But you must deal with the backlash.Put on your clothes,And open the door.You may be overexposed;But there is more.