the good times are dead inside my mind

im not content with just the memories

they just get tainted when one sells the other out

all that rapture

ends up in fractures

and all the love you make

just turns into a burn in your gut

can't wash you out

when i feel used

like loosing a finger

and having to live with it the rest of your life

i block out every memory

cause all the good times mean pain and regret

so i don't think about you

i don't think about it

cause i'll just end in a place that i don't want to be

pulling glass from my knuckles

another scar i don't even remember how i got

inside the walls of me

like bunkers in the mountains

twenty foot thick steel doors 

with locks that could survive a nuclear blast

my defenses

render your attempts senseless

and inside my fortress of a chest cavity

there is rot

there is pieces of my emotions

murdered and dissected

turned inside out and thrown around this husk

and my heart is kept at gun point

where if it moves the wrong way

we'll pull the trigger

and send that cunt back to allah