I'll intentionally drive you to wanting to die,
But when it's time, I'll gaslight.
I'll tell you everything's gonna be alright.
I'll make you lose your mind.
"It's not my fault you feel this way;
after all, I'm not the one holding the knife.
Nobody's forcing you to do this.
I'm not responsible for your suicide".

At your funeral procession,
I'll come in with the dramatics.
I'll be the one crying the hardest
As I throw myself onto your casket.
I'll weep, "I'm the one who truly loved him,"
And the family you trusted with your life will be convinced.

It will be my final form of mockery,
My disrespect for your deceased body.
Oh, you didn't know I was a psychopath?
Well, too late. You're six feet under grass.

I'll push you over the edge and ask what's wrong.
I'll send you chocolates and write you love songs.
By the time you realize what's going on,
You'll be in over your head, dead and gone.
"It's not my fault you feel this way;
after all, I'm not the one holding the knife.
Nobody's forcing you to do this.
I'm not responsible for your suicide".

I'll soil your corpse with a kiss on the lips.
Every Saturday, I'll bring you roses.
As I laugh, you'll be turning in your grave,
But to no avail, and with no escape.
Don't be oversensitive.
This is how I show my undying love.

It will be my final form of mockery,
My disrespect for your deceased body.
Oh, you didn't know I was a psychopath?
Well, too late. You're six feet under grass.

My soul claws at my internal walls for release.
Vomited up from the deepest, darkest pit of me,
Like a bat escaped from some hell, a single cry escapes, free.
It's not a word, but the sincerity is heard in every note of its plea.

I look up to see oblivion shutting back over me
Like two eyelids closing over what will become a dream.
I am witnessing it all from the depths, unable to speak.
Every time I try to use my voice, there are human symbols restraining me.

Locked inside of my mind, I sleep.