There's no hope left.
There's scars
and tragedy with a 
basic format and plan.
Still waiting,
but the casket is open
and looking to reside
is a friend of mine...
he used to hear me out.
Oh but now he's worn,
torn from abuse and
the truth is,
I'm just as elusive.
It's not the snake
it's the mistake I make
in hoping I could
do this all over again.
It's the sin that
still brings me to
the table,
as I label myself fond.
The cake is how I'll 
wait till I'm clean
just to bathe in the obscene,
talent wasted in shameless
insistence.