Self-importance weighs me down
Misery lines my pockets
Being a martyr is easy
When you have everything to lose
There are no messiahs here
Walking around today
Giving up the ghost
Leads one to a host
Of empty graves
Insecurity sells the image commercial sexuality the provider
If truth is found subconscious let my conscience be the writer
Meaning is obtrusive Interpretation is a chore
My potential a glass ceiling
Actuality the floor
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