I can't come to the phone because
I died inside and I'm rotting through
to the world that I once knew.
The smell of rot makes magets crave
the flesh that wastes away,
and as I sit here being eaten
I realize my mistakes.
I wandered off alone
got lost and ceased to be.
Being used, broken, and then forgotten
hurts as much as the peices gone.

I would give anything or take any drug to feel better right now. I would cut any vein or major artery to die right now. I would fall or jump any distance to fly away right now.

Dress me up in pretty things. Make me up to be presentable. Hide me in the closet for your own benefit. Keep me alive for my punishment. Make me beg; make me cry; make me waste away inside.

Hold my hand. Lead me no where and let go. Leave me there in hope that someone else wants me. No one comes. I'm all a lone in this dark and dangerous place. I hear the whispers of the ghosts just like me.

And this is why I can't go back when you call.