I'm the shit that you can't scrape off of your shoes. I'm the clot in your heart that you just never knew. I'm the pit in your stomach that predicts what's to come. I'm the trash that's just trash, never treasure to some. I'm the false hope of grand feats that never work out. I'm the pressure to change when you don't have the clout. I'm the one spot of dirt you can't wash from your hands. I'm the wrench in the gears of all future plans. I'm the bug in the walls, the rat, the snake. I'm the feeling of fear that you just can't escape.
Your biting your tongue, disguising our hate,'till my story is told, and I fade away. But you're lacing your shoes, waiting for the day, that my heart stops and you can dance on my grave.
I'm the last comic scream of a worm now turned bait. I'm the one who finds love, just to trade it for hate. I'm the permanent black mark, the door you can't close, who you pass on the street and you choose to ignore. I'm the fly in the ointment of a perpetual burn, the unfortunate meeting that makes your luck turn. I'm the one drink too many, the thing you regret, the shaky foundation you shouldn't have bet. I'm a scar from a scab, a dream you once had of a terrible itch that was driving you mad.