Help, it's me, Your child, again.
I know I've knocked on Your door many times before.
Drenched, in a puddle of my own sin.
Begging, squirming and writhing on the floor.
Pluck the maggots from my rotten flesh,
Pick and prune and snip snip snip away.
Increase the contrast between white and black,
Paint that over the areas my mind painted gray.
On my knees till it hurts my skin,
Till the tiles on my floor leave a gross imprint.
This is just the start of the rest of my life
I choose choose choose Your way, to survive.
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