Impressive in your eyes I seem,

but more Impressive yet are you

who believe in my life so vague,

filtered to exclude the truth.

 

My anxious fingers produce

what I hope pleases you.

I try to keep myself alive, but

by this Beast I am consumed.

 

In the belly of the Beast I lie

with my fears, my tears, 

my life:

 

the keloid Scar across my arm,

the Drugs I quit to come so far, 

the Psych Ward in which I was forced to stay,

and lay and pray until I found the Lord.

 

The Beast only bares its 4.0,

the Trophies that you admire like gold,

the Meals that feed its appetite,

for your sight, your approval,

your likes.