I bet you think you're so cool
With your punk band
And little tattoos

You think you're getting with me
You have no idea
What's in store for you

I don't know what to call You.
"Father," which should denote familiarity,
seems a foreign word to me.

I am wilted. I am weary.
I am weathered. I am worn.
I am stuffed with seeping sadness, and stewed in sticky, seething scorn.

I am deflated. Thoughts debunked.
And I am drowned in desperate dread.  
When I soak my roots in water, I find it dries them out instead.

I am wilted. I am weary.
I am wilted. I am worn.

To be loved is not a virtue
To be hated is not a sin

Without any hesitation,
and zero regard for humanity,
he’ll take your innocence,
lace it with profanity,
and cut out rails with your morality.






                                          My knife to his throat,
                                                     I plead insanity.