you made the virus, now deal with me, your precious disease

Passion is the new cancer, it's sweeping the nation.
Love is dying out, just like disco, its going out of style.
A dream so real, it's like I've done a ball of blow.
The rushing feeling I get inside of my chest,
you make my heart pound inside of its cage.
Angry fists pounding against the wall, trapped with no where to go.
A thin layer of fog sets over my kingdom,
laying in my backyard staring up at the kingdom I want to own.
The settling dew covers my body from head to toe,
I'll never know salvation- even in my final tragedy I'll suffer forever.
Awake for ever, even in this coma I can hear you breathing.
I took my final breath and now I'll never exhale,
crying out your name as my nerves begin to die off, one by one.
Scratching at my veins with pins in my hands,
sharp knuckles puncturing the skin- releasing the itch of its duty.
A new way to deal with all of this fucking stress,
bloody hands and again I'll do the same thing because my soul can't escape.
Not now, not yet, not anytime soon, I still need it.
I'll need it until the day I'm done playing this game,
until the day I'm tired of tormenting myself.
Oh lord I can't wait until I'm bored of this mental S&M.
Constantly, obsessively, I play this game with myself.
Schizophrenic nightmares, memories that haunt my subconsciousness.
Behind my face, in my head their is always at least three, sometimes
four voices.
But unfortunately you can't count on any one of us,
incidentally I'll get over myself and my little problems.
I'll get over this soap opera and turn the lights out.