Take your knife and line it up.
Make me bleed, just for a cup.
Plunge it deep and pierce my soul,
It was yours to keep, yet here we roll.

I think I got run over by a truck,
But maybe that’s ‘cause I gave a ****.
Go ahead and twist your knife,
My once well-loved now spiteful wife.

In my suffering you bask,
As blood drips out despite my mask.
I think it’s time to make it real,
These visions and thoughts I feel.

The stage is set, messages left.
Time for self inflicted theft.
There’s a hole in my chest,
And you thought I spoke in jest.

The last laugh is mine.