That I bid you to wipe your shoes on me,
Because I am not whole.
I sometimes wish for you to see
The things I have inside my head.

The things I’ve got planned for you
In my perfect, most twisted bliss.
Broken? This smile does not fool who?
Who I am is not who I see

Playing with the devil, dancing
In the shadows, all alone. Always alone.
The junkie in my head, prancing
Around those who doubt my insanity.

The murderer in my head, stalking
The vulnerable, the miserable, the facades of empty shells.
And all those silly girls, who stand gawking
At my presence, do not see the twisted thoughts seep out.

Cannot see those twisted thoughts wrap
Around their ankles. Climb up their ankles.
Maybe if I grow ideal, make the twisted slap
The reality. The façade of an empty shell.

I can tangle happiness in my vine,
Hold it captive.
Keep it mine.
This smile does not fool who?