If only I lay broken in the dirt
With nothing left on earth for me to hurt
That way I'd play my cards right, well alone
I'd make myself a name, and stay at home
Because you make it hard for me to hate
Anything but my own self, and my Fate:
That part of me that makes me sick to live
The part of me that takes all that I give
All I ever do is break apart
I'm a useless exhibitionist, not art
Nor music, nor poetry I create
But all I am strives to be something more
Anything other than this awkward, bastard whore