and i'm afraid of myself
(this void in your chest is the foul fruit of your vacuous mind)
i hope my sweetness won't turn into alcohol all over again
(this heaviness in your stomach is the foul fruit of your imagination)
look in the mirror and hit yourself
(this anemic depression is the foul fruit of your putrid personality)
wear sadness like a mask to hide the nothingness
(this monster under your bed is the foul fruit of your blasphemous angels)

i dream of a parallel universe
where there is no need to dream of parallel universes

i am the hand that fears the burn
but strives for the kiss