I've done this to myself again
this game of filth will never end
I've beaten down these mental boarders
And with this wound I'll hold no orders.
I hate this sense of worthlessness
A pain of which has grown excess
I'll never cleanse this thickened sin
It's depth has sank below the skin.
And sorrow won't good enough
Compensations won't be made
Yet time is still to further on
guiding ink of what's been drawn.
Apathy has built itself
within the walls of concious souls
I've tried my best to keep in touch
throughout this wretched game of clutch



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