Weakend Diagnosing A Haunted Child
I've come to terms with my existence
(My bane, my hex, my life, my relapse).
I'm just human after all. Please father, don't abandon family.
You promised not to follow in your old man's footsteps.
But you're just like him: you're rich and drunk and desperate.
And I'm left with the regrets of forsaken souls with no control of my own sanity.
So I burn this family tree. The branches lost their budding flowers
And the leaves, they turn to ash before the fall.
Tonight let the fog rise.
The old floorboards groan while
The spirits all whisper, singing me to sleep.
Please, oh please, prescribe me empathy.
I've lost all hope; you have my blessing just for an hour.
A minute, or a second. I kill to get this burden stripped from me.
These walls all look the same; white beds and matching sheets will scream my name.
I'm a patient with no patience, so take my blood for granted.
Ghosts have raped me of my dignity.
I promised myself not to lose control, but I can't do this on my own.
I'm cold and scared and desperate.
And I'm left with the regrets of forsaken souls with no control of their own sanity.
And they take it out on me.
