I'm cheesy; it's disgusting

Tell me when you're here, I can't see past regret. Tell me how I wrote "Welcome to Hell" on the front porch, that night. Look around at all we've done; infinities to dissolve ourselves in, I suppose? Those friends that resemble harlots, screeching profanities like oxygen in the air..the ways we can't find to fix everything we've claimed to misplace.

What's with this world and secrecy? I'm sick of it, and crazy, besides. .I'm never in it for the scandal. But all I've got are a couple of worn out wings and a closet full of cobwebs to keep 'em in.