If I hit a low again

In the witching hour

from the dark room where I lay awake all alone,

and I’ve gone so numb I can’t feel the aching cold

tearing at my skin although I know it’s there.

 

I’ll wait for my happiness

even if it never comes.

 

I’ll lay there waiting for HIM to meet me,

waiting for the despair HE brings me.

HE will promise me to shield me from corruption,

but HE is a liar,

and as I taste the blood and the guilt of all the people

that have ever met HIM,

and as I feel myself drifting away from this

awful yet sweet disposition and I whisper a curse under my breath

with my icy tongue

 

and when the day threatens me with my burning regrets

I’ll leave with my mask intact but cracking slowly

 

my stomach churns with the sound of my own screams echoing in my skull

as HE leads me to my utter demise

as my peers do nothing but laugh and hope they are not next.