When I Am Right, I Am Wrong.

Indulging the despair about the epitome of me, the periodic nonsense of my purpose as a fiend.

Devouring all the sins inhabitants in my time bestowed, satisfying all their hunger whilst I give up the ghost. 

Seeing is believing if you don’t know who I am, so don’t give your blessing to the undoing of my name.

I could care less of what it is that you think, so swallow your fabricated filth it is that you speak.

Why do I suffer when I do nothing wrong, why does it seem I should never be able to belong.