Who can I turn to but myself, in my time of most need.
Who will understand my deep sorrow, who will carry with me?
Who will share my burdens. Who will give equal yoke?
I feel like it's all a reflexive joke.
Everyone wants what I have but they don't want me.
They latch, suckle me dry and leave me wanting.
Who watches o'er those who watch?
My back unprotected, stabbed once, twice, thrice and still I allow, and still I don't learn.
The guillotine is home.
The blood follows me.
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