Morphed into fear,
The smell of ammonia seeps into my nostrils.
Antibiotics are churned around in my stomach.
It's fall again which means change.
My head is starting to clear,
And I can hear my thoughts one at a time.
Lack of motivation keeps you from writing back.

Words come out of my mouth, onto paper, into your eyes, into your head.
Filling up your conscious with the things I tend to dread.
I'm not willing to organize,
So you'll have to start trying to pick me apart.
Find the truth behind my lies,
And turn them into a new form of art.
Transformation is the key,
Your morphing soul will try to flee.
You seem to eager to runaway,
A tragic flaw you'll discover one day.
The line of actors who played your part,
Will never pull off your savage heart.