Mural of Morbid Mentality

A little glimpse into what my world's like when I'm depressed.

A thousand blotted pictures, for a thousand blotted days,
Mural of morbid mentality, painted from a lack of grace,
A needle on an easle deep within my deprived mind,
Drawing a single picture to describe a million lines.

Like a needle grazing my skin, its piercing me deep within,
Causing inflamation as it bends, why am I feeling this way again?
An image still unfinished, tattoo'd onto such an burned out soul,
What is it when finished? There's still a thousand stings left to go.

What can the picture be? I don't think you'll ever really know,
You paint me a picture of apathy, and trust me, it shows,
I'm being tattoo'd again, and its tearing at my only good skin,
What is it when finished and will the inking ever end?

Numbing at needle point, as it breaks and slides inside,
Its gone too far and scarred me and there's no point in crying,
A pigment figment, is it real? I never really know,
But will it ever be finished? There's still a thousand stings to go.