Suffering Bastard

Shorn of apocryphal pride,
The locks fall predicting strife.
Cranium exposed,
Denial of aesthetic.
Push it a little farther.
All of this burnt to ashes,
All of this torn to rags.

I don't know what the fuck have I become?
Synapses snapping mortality decimated.
Breakdown whiskey shifts hate into overdrive.
Realizing it's murder of the self so clean.

I don't know what the fuck have I become?
Hand reaches out desecrates impunity.
Ripping away foundation's identity
Replacing with shame.

Transgression mythologized,
Indiscretions immortalized.

Anger inflamed with dry rot,
Pushing towards severance.
What a bloody mess.
Visiting dark sites unknown,
Grief lands like a ton of bricks.
All of this burnt to ashes,
All of this torn to rags...