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Don't Listen
Precious, dearest, light of my life,
you know not to listen to me when I'm like this,
but just to let you know
I hate you more than I thought possible.
And if you were to walk out of my house and leave me now,
and by some freak of chance you were hit by a car,
I would turn up to your funeral to dance and spit on your grave.
You know I don't mean it, don't you?
And you know I could never hurt you, don't you?
I haven't the strength to claw at your flawless face,
to yank out every single elegant hair on your scalp,
to twist your exquisite head from your neck.
Like I've always wanted to.
So I'll hurt my grotesque body instead.
It's my fault I'm angry after all,
you know I get like this sometimes.
