Nerves

The world sits at my feet
My words are theirs to eat
They feed off of my lies
and smile in terrible disguise
My syllables, they flow
From my nocturnal head to toe
And I speak from my soul.
But even then I grow old
And sit in ashes of disgrace.
In my own nightmarish face
but In reality, My words are true
And blissful love they tend to brew
So I take my navy blue nerves
In throw them to the native curb
Never again will I be controlled
by my hysterical mold.