"The throne of cardboard, easy to inflame,"
Baphomae Cyntheri 

I'm not your saint, I am the thorn,
I'm the havoc you will mourn.

I cradled your heart, and bore this taste,
I smeared the carnage upon your face.

I took control, I snapped your will,
I taught you murder, not to kill.

I raped the violence, I made it raw,
I captivated hate with awe.

I stole your disgust and made it mine,
put your filth upon this shrine.

I abused the knowledge, twisted your fame,
in hope that I could be your blame.

I craved your envy, seduced your lust,
I shattered the belief that held your trust.

I made you all of which that you are not,
I am the decay which your body will rot.

Sabotaged your tender whims to mend,
to prove to you, that I do not bend.

Who had the control, was it me or you,
I will show you just what love can do.

Make you a God and then tear you down,
Lets show the world your painted crown.

The throne of cardboard, easy to inflame,
Your blood of Calvary, a stench of shame.

"this box--cardboard, brown"
the disappeared 

when i started high school
i was in a box.
perhaps, i was boxed before
9th grade. but the box closed
with packing tape
very soon after.

this box--cardboard, brown
small. too small. too much.
became my ideal.
                                  "there is nothing outside
                                   these cardboard confines"
and so i went.
no air holes
no time to
breathe.

it is here
now. gasping hard for air
where i decide,
to cut the tape.
rip apart those confines
to which i have been conformed to
fit. just so

no matter
i have the fucking knife.

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