A cracked facade, a crumbling clay heart,
legs stiff with the weight of unplayed parts.
No receipt for the soul, just echoes of gunshots,
barefoot in hayfields where innocence rots.
The devil's easy mode, a siren's cold call,
while church bells chime, a fractured spirit stalls.
A radioactive glow, a plea for revitalized skin,
but the moon's swill whispers of where sin begins.
From prison walls to rehab's sterile halls,
a tightrope walk where every footstep falls
into the chasm of "what ifs" and "should haves,"
a symphony of scars etched on forgotten paths.
The weight of Cain's mark, a cable cutting deep,
no pedestal to dust, just promises to keep.
Thirteen steps to a face that's no longer blurred,
a reunion longed for, a whispered, unheard word.
A pipe bomb's echo, a pressure cooker's hiss,
shrapnel papercuts, a venomous kiss.
Not revenge, but a desperate, final plea,
a self-made rope, a hanging decree.
From stumbles and whispers to a roar of despair,
a broken pendulum swinging in poisoned air.
No soap to wash away the shame and grime,
just crack smoke clouds that mark the passage of time.
The ocean of regret, a tide that won't cease,
drowning in sorrow, begging for release.
No easy answers, no simple fix,
just a symphony of scars, a soul that's adrift in the mix.
A broken clock, its hands forever still,
a testament to wounds that time cannot heal.
From whispers of angels to the devil's dark art,
a fractured reflection of a torn-apart heart.