Wholesale Conscience

My mentality forces me to fight with myself, and it affects my health, to the point where my disorder becomes my reality.
An impulse in my brain encouraging me to sample pain, and a dirty angel on my back saying that she'll remain.
Pessimist haven is open for business, and my thoughts are resorts for those negative thinkers and heavy drinkers.
The weak-willed, and the compulsively pilled are the kind who find solace in my inevitable decline.
Come take a piece of me while you still can, I know you're a fan, my will is a steal and my trust you can feel.
Use it as long as you desire, then just give it back when you tire, or the novelty has worn, or the seams have torn.
Your fake plastic conscience enlightens with excuses, and it turns and accuses, when I defend my broken spirit.
So let's just agree to disgaree, and I'll keep my mouth shut, and my true thoughts will go to the grave with me.
I'd hate to make this uncomfortable for you...