I still feel sick,
I'm no idiot, I can comprehend that it was I that threw you away, but that's just semantics.
I can see another's hand collect the flesh of your stomach as he writhes behind you, I'm just glad he still doesn't have a face.
Been pulling the glass out of my feet for three weeks now.
Better a glass than a headful of sparks.
Careful there! Doctors orders: try a little escapism.
I'm done with the monochrome coat.
This is a head down, pen's at dawn, conflict with the beast within.
That c**t is going down soon.
A well deserved farewell.