Convertible

the sound of tearing might wake the neighbors up, but how else am i supposed to get you off me. youve been writing all these clichés, and isnt it too cute how apathy makes everyone smile. somebody please help this man he looks nearly dead, hacksaw in hand and a new convertible head. "i had to feel something, or die trying." this one last inevitably scripted of clichés. edged with irony has left me with just one stale truth: "the beast cannot survive without a host." so without a thought, starve that sycophant. i'll never believe you when you say everythings ok. just stop hiding behind your apathy and start tearing your skin do whatever it takes to let light shine on whats within