By: Ryan Pettigrew
Sitting amongst the walking dead,
Soulless eyes that are blood shot red.
Like vampires, only out at night,
Oily skin that’s transparent white.
Awake for days, ribs protruding,
Seeking other lost souls, straight recruiting.
Worship circle, staring at the pipe.
But hating the life, it’s not worth the hype.
Every hit intensifies madness,
Mass murderous dreams void of sadness.
Wishing for death but can’t slit the wrist,
Baiting killers but they don’t get the gist.