Higher

Pumice tears mutilate that face,
Burning solid paths of regret over pores, pores from which
Would seep a hatred deep with years worth of suffering,
Like sugar-coated grimaces towards wayward desires,
Itching to take you higher.
Ready to make you surrender.
Dying to be your undertaker.
Hell's hottest burning flames consume your fleshy corpse;
A Reaper so Grim tears your screaming soul away
And you've achieved that permanent high,
Knowing the world was just a joke,
Everything said was a lie,
And insecurities
Are the beginning
To an end.