Slow death
Junk food
Numb flesh
Dumb flesh
Compulsive sex
Your sweat is trash i ingest
Get it out of me and get out
Comfort becomes sickness
Sickness becomes status quo
I know
Empty as a prayer and as self-serving
Utterly blank and undeserving
Oh how it becomes you at last
What a trash
Don't look at my hands
Don't look back
Ultimately i hold my breath