12/17/14 11:03 P.M. – Lost In My Own Mind
I’m under the influence of whiskey fixed caskets
Agreeing politically with the Dixie Chicks fascists
I’m burning urgently like quickly lit matches
I’m in hell receiving six hundred and sixty-six lashes
I’m growing wearisome, of this position of constant delirium
It has me in a state of imperium, without a sense of an equilibrium
It’s an idiom, to say my conscious is lighter than lithium
Cursed for the rest of the millennium, in a dream for a requiem
These dark beings are lining up in a single file
Waiting to give me a beating as they go on and smile
I was sentenced to torture in a previous trail
Can’t give them an inch because they’d take a fucking mile
Goddamn this is gruesomely vile
Might as well grab some popcorn, because I’ll be here for awhile
I’m having cataclysms and Armageddon visions
Good and evil are having seismic collisions, on provisions with religion
Trying to influence society’s decisions to side with their ambitions
Without our permission, is what they envision
I walk around lost in my own mind
Trying to find any kind of sign
That my neurons are all aligned
But I guess that’s not how my brain is designed
Mental health on the decline
Darkness is how I’m defined
A mental prison is where I’m confined
And I’m working on borrowed time


Learned to be an introvert from Diabolic
I’m a product of an environment, or whatever you want to call it
So I was bred by my family to become an alcoholic
No wonder why I’m a psychotic, demonic, melancholic walking coffin, with empty pockets
I’m made up of a bottle of vodka, crushed Percocets until my nose bleeds
A six pack of beer, coke, trees, and gold OCs
You call that a suicidal savage at play
I used to call that an average day
I’m battle tested, with a fragile presence, and a soul never having been attested
My mental is shackle destined, counting all my baffled questions, riddled with addled “blessings”
I walk with no confidence, because my self-loathing is bottomless
Pessimism is dominant, and every day is monotonous
Everybody knowing my name, but I rather have the opposite
Just want to go through life as an alcoholic and be anonymous
But if I do that, it’s fairly obvious, that pretty soon I’ll have my own sarcophagus
So I don’t need these androgynous, people pointing out my incompetence
I already knew this lifestyle and its consequence
It doesn’t take an economist to see I’m setting myself up for no accomplishments
My door gets knocked on by the grim reaper and crypt keepers
Being harassed by soul seekers, can’t find it? Look deeper
You’ll have to look harder than that if it’s my soul you want to be stealing
It should be past the traumatic dealings and the suppressed feelings
Guarded by the alcohol and Prozac healings
Just behind the memory of my belt hanging from the ceiling