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I wake up every morning and feel cold despair. Lately I dream of angels taking me to salvation....from my every waking hour of body dysmorphia...I hate me.

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With every ounce I cry

With all my heart I whimper

To be me again

I call out for an answer to the Gods

I call out for aid and forgiveness

I am the weakest man, I Don't want to be me.

A prisoner, In a prison of flesh

Let me be free to express myself, I cannot be me

Harken to the angels mount, there you will find salvation and freedom from all your troubles, or gain salvation in death!

Take my worthless tears on a plate of offerings and my bones as pencils, and my heart as a purse, take my skin as a blanket and my dreams as a curse! Take my wishes and aspirations and cast them away as the worthless ashes I have conjured in my ill head as I cry out for answers!

Why me? Why me? I try so hard to be free!

Let me go to be myself, to be her! my young child!

I am held down on all sides, I cannot be free, I am the weakest man that has ever been!

I am not made for love, but for war! yet I do not want to fight, I want to love! what curse of mortality is upon me? is this your creation?

I harken to the angels mount, saviours of my life, i walk your path for salvation. All gods and spirits take pity on me, a broken man. let me be free!