Now I lay me, down to sleep.
Under my covers and into my sheet.
Your words will squirm, now, into my skin.
You'll make me hate myself from within.
I might stand up, but I sink down inside.
I know that, in you, I cannot confide.
In basing my life upon all your strife.
I find myself living for the afterlife.
Despite all the faithful.
In spite of the fake.
The life that I want is the life that I make.