My foul language is what categorizes as destruction to one's self.
It crumbles society and the influence of emotions wave around like typhoons.
This bad mouth of mines never stops chanting these hurtful words. 
My lips cannot be sealed with fiery candle wax, scented with my tears.
My mouth moves and moves on it's own, my mind and heart colliding with my foulness.
These spells make my head tremble and I'm unable to chant my way out.
This black magic will consume me to my fall with the forbidden language of Witchcraft.
I yearn to seek help,
but my tears prevent me from doing so.
My bones have been snapped while leading me to a lonely path.
My language has separated me away from the likes of society.
The foul language I speak is only within the psychological mind of mines,
creating a nuclear bomb of sorts to destroy me and my connections.