Black Hearts and Withered Boots

Blow it away Keep your distance and resist the water Don’t bother with the over-saturation of the blind man’s cane Feign sadness and retreat to the nearby confessional Professional regret is my forte My plague park Dark and withered I whisper my sins with a grin, coupled with agony After I cleanse my soul, I retire to the outside world to complete my daily ritual Full of odds and ends Blending into society’s trend this mask burns my face as I race home to peel it away The day’s end is near and fear becomes my best friend once again Dark and renewed I shed the mask to become myself again Then to the darkness, I become keen I touch the machine and feel a forceful entry into my soul Why is this so prophetic? I wake the next day with a dry mouth and a heavy head If only from a crown Instead, I give head to my cup of caffeine Once again, with the “normal” routine I redeem my consciousness and saliva With my blank-view stare I compare who I am with who I pretend to be Unwillingly coaxing myself into reality I wear my black heart with my withered boots because they match Both attached to the dark memories of my ill-faded, yet not forgotten life The mental bruising stings and hurts Try to get rid of it, but nothing works It’s a curse and it will only get worse With the blooms of death fresh in my mind I come to find, not myself But myself blind Might make a second part, but I'm not too sure yet. Had a lot of material for this one and it sort of formed itself into this.