A big dark room with no curtains and no lights, four desks pushed together the only thing keeping them apart. There’s a lot of room in here, one of them says. The glow from two computer monitors the only thing that lights the room. Eyes raised above the level of the screen at one end send daggers across the empty void, each dagger intended for the entity at the opposite end.
Your eyes I see peeking above the screen
I know you always treated me as a queen
Never asked me to clean
Never begged me to preen
Yet I’m still going to be unrelentingly mean
All because I want to rip out your spleen
I can see you staring at me, you don’t think I can but I see it. You keep writing that you want to kill me, dismember me, tear me apart and leaving me bleeding. Your words are venom, each verse an attack it really is quite amusing to me. However there are some outside this big empty space who continually intend take offence. They believe your words are about them, it’s not their fault for they have no idea this space exists. Although with some it’s because they just think everything is about them.
This is not some show or concert
I don’t care if others get butt hurt
By the words that I write
I doubt they are particularly bright
And if they want to take offence
It just make no sense.
If they had the nerve to enter this void
They too would surely be destroyed
Again with the threats, you seem to have nothing else. Your words hang over this darkened space like a lead weight, killing your creativity and making you sour. They say the pen is mightier than the sword, why don’t you prove that and write something powerful? My words may not always be well written, may at time cause discussion and could even evoke emotion but at least they aren’t causing you harm.
If I take out my ball point pen
I could stab you again and again
But if I take out my sword
Your head will be my reward
Your ball point pen may have more might
But without your head you’ll surely loose the fight.
Again with the violence. Again you misread the words. It’s no wonder you think everything I write is about you when understanding such statements is beyond the abilities your twisted little mind. Your feelings are clouding your judgement, your hatred is making you blind. If my words were meant for you why would they be so nice?
Again, for your slow brain, I must repeat
I do not read, the crap that you excrete
Your words are too kind
For my darkened mind
You’re personal bullshit
You should not submit.
The darkness in this void only serves as light for me to see you and your contradictions. If you do not read the words that I write how can you possibly deem them to be so bad? Oh I don’t expect an honest answer to that, so don’t even try. You relish in the fight and the abuse, you just want to see me dead.
But you deserve nothing less than death
You should be inhaling your last breath
The words you choose
I do not peruse
The crap you write
Should not see daylight
Why can’t we get along? Why can’t we co-habitate? We both live in the empty space. All you want to do is cause pain, all I want to do is live. The offence taken by those outside this empty space means nothing to me, I know this fight is not about them, it’s for control of this void. We are equal, we are the same, you could be my muse if you were not always trying to kill the words.
The empty space I will control
I will not rest without his soul
Neither of you shall win
I’ll leave you both in a spin
I will control this homestead
It’s Lost Property’s head.