Something crawls under my skin
Wiry tissues display triumph of the syndrome
Anguish and disillusion keep weakening my senses
Self-destruction triggers disgust at anything
A process that relieves my depression somehow
My flesh comes off revealing botches and sores
I'm a man sewed up by the silence of aseptic cures
slowly digested by a relentless cutaneous terror
swallowed by the Morgellons
My hands keep scratching the crusts off
I seek comfort in physical eradication
It's insanely tough by I have to
My body is falling into pieces!
Mutilation may reveal a novel morbid pleasure
Compulsive contractions break up the derma
These are plagues of a martyr with no god
My fingertips melt down in my on flesh and blood
While the stench is strong enough to blur my mind
There's no hope in self-amputation
Wiry tissues grow longer with no hesitation
I see the reflection of my mutilated body
trembling on the cold surface of kitchen axes
One left to go, one more cut to my throat
Soon everything will be over, distant, gone!
