Weed me out. If judgement itself could speak, it would beg. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. I am an enemy factory - making them prodigiously, poisoning whatever touches me by dozens, by hundreds, to infinity. Weed me out. I'm a self-abusive black hole from which no sympathy escapes. There's a riot in my skull where sheer will is all it takes to create the darkest place in the world and disappear in it. I am an enemy factory - making them prodigiously, poisoning whatever touches me by dozens, by hundreds, to infinity.