Maybe the burning in my skull would stop and the words would pause for a time.
The strings that pulls my soul apart would grow lax and then my life would once again be mine.
This stained painted glass of a fragmented self, colored to mix the matching pains. To fit with pieces beside and not a single one the same.
A convoluted cacophony of violence and agony, a chorus of a broken soul, rendered still and un-moving, a symphony of self, a song of me, these words are what they show, in all my hubris and twisted glory.