Holes

Pacing in my apartment till there’s holes in my socks
I’m ready to drop, my finger’s been itching the trigger of an emotionless jock
Who mocks my rebuttals when I stand there and talk to air
Waiting for someone there to come and knock on my door
Apprehend this Glock and stop myself from kissing the floor
Like some kind of whore who get’s off from the horror of torture
Picking at scabs with a dirty splinter and ash
I’m out of gas, I don’t wanna think
Sing me lullabies of zombie sheep that are sheered at the shrink
Staggering on the brink of schizophrenia
Multiple people inside my head
Why are you hurting us, I’m not impervious
Armor is flesh and that bullet ain’t courteous
If you go merge with it know that it’s permanent
No restarts, no receipts, no record scratch, no returning it
The fire already dwindles on this candle light vigil
So if you fire that pistol just the sound itself will kill you
Free from echoing nightmares multiplying like mildew
Free from your mother’s smile that forces you to continue
Free from the extra lives that she gifted but you just withdrew
Free from the curse of time, treasure and steal the still moon
Free from the strangers whispering that never tried to get you
Free from hating that person you want them to understand
You’re such a fucking hypocrite, I can’t fucking stand you
You wanna be alone but crave affection in a damp room
Pitying yourself writing these diatribes that consume
A chamber of mirrors, hear the rats in the walls
Behind it all you’re plotting, they’re plotting for our fall
Coincide your hatred ties for genocide of this vassal
Conjoined twins knaw at each other in a culling
Traitors to your conception but can’t turn it’s disgusting
Nothing to offer anyone you might as well be nothing
Clutching a fake memory owned by data corruption
Hissing blue screens fade to black forgetting how to function
What’s left is a shallow image reluctant to share a scrapbook
It wants to be scrapped in a pile of crook photographers
Accompanied by all the other selfish past forfeitures
Maybe I’ll have identity
Maybe I’ll make a friend of me
Maybe I could pretend to be
An entity loving recklessly
Instead of a sea anemone
Instead of my own enemy
Instead of depressed directory
In spite of the truth
Here I stand in the booth
Confessing to you
Talking in two’s
Splitting the fool
Raising a coo
Boos from the king
Executing the zoo of animals in my shoe
I want a constant form, no shape shifting for loot
But when I finally conform what will be left of you?
If you’re gone am I new or just a fraction of what I knew
It’s like any result concluded in the end I always lose
Doomed to be food literally or metaphorically
No more of me physically or orally
I’m orbiting and torrenting personality
Cuz I’ve abandoned all sense of rationality