Ophelia's Requiem To Prostitution

More self persecution/preservation in a sense....

There's a ghost in the shadows of this reservoir and only I hear her screams
Falling prey to the malpractice of the disease
Is this what is truly meant for her reality
I demand a refund
I would rather take it back
Painted on a weary canvas; I have found myself attempting to stifle what I hear
attempting to change what has always registered as deception
Are the remnants of her disease within my hands the pieces for what is left with
unbottle the disguise
diminish the lies
to discover the nothing
to discover the rejoice of a new dawn that is easily shattered
And my belief in a newfound glory has provent  itself a facade
Trying to be open to the unwilling, rather stay in the nothing's killing
To break the unreachable has never been my way
and I stand here, sit here today...a bit broken
This is why I'm never open
to the world, to the next, the former, the latter
it all plays familiar....all ends in emotional, mental blood splatter
and there is hair all over the floor
clumps of blood and flesh
Stress be it, I'm not sure
The skin is discolored, my nails are turning yellow
And I just want to fade and not face any of you
Not face myself for the travesty I have let my non-living become
The zombie life is not glamorous
and I'm afraid I've been away from the sun for way too long
So I fall back into my safe where I feel safe
but the reality is left undefined
don't know why I woke up  in this state today, this morning
drowning of  glory
Tears and battered pens spilling ink blots of what I cannot say
as always
There's a ghost in the reservoir
in times of despair she calls to me
I wander the sand in search of this cave
trying to find the lighthouse of her residence
but I'm blind by temptation to become the under
I'm falling into these coal mines
carrying thousands of pounds on my back
trying to make it pretty to sell to the world
I make you all pretty to sell your souls to the world
I will forever reside with her
this ghost in me that is constantly screaming at me to change
when I know its needed
but I fall prey to the curse
I fall prey to the the verses of death
that have rehearsed themselves into the caricature that stains before me
And the yells are stifled
my ears are ringing
all the s**t from the past is resounding

Against these waves, my soul is resounded.