Threw on a beat to address this empty part of me that seeks rotten repose,
an empty kind of hope hoping that a broken rose can be made whole.
Petals scattered with grey matter, once the ocean of static became a tide of undulating panic,
I never understand myself, or how to reach for help;
doesn't exactly matter now,
staring a barrel straight down.
Drove knives into the wings of a fallen angel,
just to prove that halos can be broken in a fit of senseless anger.
Now all I have is the blood beneath my nails,
a cursed mask for a cursed face twisted by the memories; trying to brave a glass sea with broken sails.

Keep the feather for fair-weather friends make mischief only when they can nab a certain win,
though the years pass and I stay steadfast in the gutter I can't take another missing brother or absent mother;
so I laugh to tuck the pain away,
drain the tears into a perfect oasis.
I'm not like them, I've come to be able to understand what makes us kin,
though the web is woven tightly around I don't think I'll ever touch it again.

I gave up on this spot and decided to drop every inspiration that gifted this silver spark;
so, the snake bites its own tail, a cycle that continues independent of this empty heart.