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.
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
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
i have the fucking knife.