you pay doctors to tell you your worst nightmare and still be okay with it

confused, dazed, and a palm of self hate
neat splinters and long sleeves, so people wont have to squint.

my wrist itches, every now and then,
but then again, isn't it only myself to blame?

hey look, its the frankenstein! their eyes trying to say
but i guess they're right, or its an understatement
for them, its just jokes for days,
for me, its the price it gotta pay.

this slab of meat has nothing on its feet
all is numb, what is bitter sweet?
its time to go before death comes to greet
maybe by then i'll be something who doesn't wilt.