After days and days of delusions,
I now see the truth.

That you will blame me for all your misfortunes,
Shooting arrows at me that go right on through.

They sting upon entering,
But the exit wounds are the worse.

But now that I have holes in me,
The rest of your arrows have no worth,

You will consonantly hint at me,
Using your social network posts.

Trying to bend my thoughts,
With your painful cries as your way to roast.

You swear that it's my fault,
That the blood is on my hands.

                   Blood on who?
Blood on me?                          
                   Blood on you.

The blood is on you.
The blood is on you.
You didn't care about the blood you drew.

You're slashing at air,
With your hostile hands.

Hands that are covered with blood.

Blood,
That,
YOU,
Created.