**I enter Dr. Taylor's office, nervously taking my seat in his leather-brown arm-chair.**
Dr. Taylor: "Well, I didn't expect to see you until next week.
..................So tell me what troubles you, why did you want to speak?"
**I start talking, almost in a stream of consciousness.**
Exactly what key is death in, the moment my breath..-
Ends its cadence, and regret is the only thing left..-
Leaving a deafening, silence for contemplation..-
I've spent a lifetime struggling, but where's my compensation..-
Save for, a face scarred by personal blemishes..-
Penitence saved for, the grateful souls of the privileged..-
A lost resemblance, the un-dead has no reflection..-
With the pollution I cast, I can pass no inspection..-
I feel like an extra, cast in my own cinema..-
Watching a stranger playing the role I invented..-
It's perfectly fitted, so why am I necessary..-
Why, am I stressed over this when the rest is very..-
Readily apparent, I wake up steady and coherent..-
Wondering if my people's were ready to be my parents..-
I mean, at age 7 my world was gutted and corrupted..-
Pure water was lead laden, that rat shouldn't have touched it..-
So my voice grew smaller, because no one could be trusted..-
Promiscuity grew through me, it's where all my love went..-
Mothafuck the world man, I'm sick of living this life..-
I've pushed everyone away so I can sit here and die..-
The edge of existence, crumbling away like stale bread..-
Falling away by the piece, then stepped on by the unaware..-
My blunders are blatant, they're the cause but who can say..-
With my back to my past, it recurs like boomerang..-
Dr. Taylor: "Well, N-Sight...talk about boomerangs."
Dayum...no help.