There’s no burying the skeleton that mocks me every day and every night, 

No stitching that corrosive wound. 

But there’s no burying you either, 

For you buried yourself a long time ago, 

In neuroses and sociopathy, gifted to you by the creeps you sidle up to, 

The fools you mindlessly repeat and dream of. 

My heart is dead, but your soul never had a chance to even breathe, 

And you are your own skeleton.