The Work of Your Hands

Why are you so concerned with evil ways?

Those actions don't lengthen days,

But shorten them,

Like a knife to the wrist,

Determined to spill your own blood.

Someone get this man a doctor

Or better yet a psychologist.

He thinks self-inflicted pain is opportunistic.

Watch how he traps himself in cages

Like an animal wanting to be tamed.

But you must break the will before the beast disappears.

He continues to gnaw at his own flesh.

No man can save a man not wanting to be saved.

His problems are deep within his soul.

His heart has become coal,

Pumping poison into his system,

Turning his veins black,

Which focuses the mind on the things of the dark.

It's like art

The way the devil twists our arms

By telling us the twisting is a good thing.

Now you’re looking stupid, curled up in your own body,

Vomiting out everything you have consumed

Because you ate raw flesh.

Your hands shake.

The destruction of yourself was so pleasant.

It's like you're in withdrawal from eating yourself alive.

Devil convinced you to kill yourself

And now you die,

Never to see the fullness of days.

Lie there in your own waste,

Placed there by your weak will.

Stomach still churning from the wickedness.

Poison drying out your flesh.

A sad painting to see.

But that's the result of letting the devil tell you what makes you happy.

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