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Noothgrush
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Erode The Person
Born into a state of decay
The spirit, like soil, erodes.
Devoid of sustenance,
All life withers.
Infected from the beginning,
Bred of negativity.
Engrave my hate in bitter skin.
Drift into a comfortable abyss.
Embittered from years of this,
Time and time again.
My spirit has been soiled,
Maintained by perpetual hate.
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Incapable of growth,
All seeds feed the disease.
I'll always be alone,
Like I've been since I was born.
A battered, weakened stray,
Embraced by my dejection.
Yield to grasp of self-worthlessness.
Yield to grasp of self-worthlessness.
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