There's nothing beyond the world you sculpt,
a bed of roses,
drenched in lies,
prepped by knives.

So carefully shaped,
so carelessly grown.

Every nook and crevice,
give me motivation,
I'll tear it all apart,
irreparable,
a ****** mess,
a catalyst
that'll spark your destruction
and set that mind ablaze.

Fragile and weak,
the human crawls,
in seek of help,
only when it all crumbles.

In bliss,
in safety of their cocoon,
they rejoice,
a fool,
not a thought,
not a mind,
a pity indeed.

It could've all grown so well,
bloom fully in spring,
and emit a fragrance
that enchants unlike any other,
but you forget,
of the thorns you grew,
and I'll use them all,
let you have a taste,
of the tangy sweetness,
of the world you've built.