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.