Scrapes and scars

There's a wound, a ravine

a gaping hole in my machine

and it's bleeding up a flood, a river

There's these small parasites

killing bloodcells, all the whites

and they're starting, now, to bud, to deliver.

And my skin is growing dead

And there are faces in my head

and I love them only half what they should like

And I know, that when I sleep,

my eyes stay open, all to keep

my hands from scraping off that flesh with all their might.

There's a scab, there's an itch

there's a body in a ditch

And we're screaming pleas to scratch it all away

Here's some tape, here's some booze

Wash yourself clean of that ooze

You can't heal it if you want to have your way.

I'm okay, this is best

I'll scratch open all the rest

Amputation just might be worth the relief

Kill my heart, kill my machine,

There's more parasites to bring,

love and loss was only meant as aperitif.

The End

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