A tired soul cries in prayer, to god's unknown, spit and swear. I'll sink to the bottom, the abysmal misfortune, soon to succeed in pits of nothing. Dire consequences leak through pin pricked holes, and it shines silver and ruby, like blood on my blade, that bleeds your name, and calls me insane. I shake and sigh, believe me, I'm the one to blame, no not me, I'm not jealous, I'm not green... I lie awake in this bed of red, and, assume please, there is nothing wrong with me. I'll be that girl that lies and dies, I'll be that girl committing suicide... hating the world, scorching and blistering, losing contour, kissing her own fade. Watching you wash away, watching you drown, finally my eyes are satisfied. That's ok, I'll shy, and die alone. Faking it.