What a Psychopath Sees.
Tell them you bumped your head on the door,
You probably deserved it anyway.
Teach you to cross me
I’ve told you before I like my dinner hot,
It’s not my fault your face
Keeps hitting my fist.
Don’t breath a word of this
No one will believe you
It’s me who does all the good stuff
It’s me, who keeps this family afloat,
You’d be nothing without me.
I tell them it’s the TV when you scream at me
I tell them your highly-strung
I tell them don’t worry
You’ll be fine once the meds kick in.
I tell them I put up with a lot
To keep our home a happy one.
I say to you behave,
Rumours can be hurtful,
I’d hate for you to be hurt
You could lose your job
If they find out
You stole, you lied, you’re weak.
Your life is mine, did you know?
I say jump, you say how high.
‘Cause the children hate you
They despise what you do,
You can’t blame them can you?
To want you out of the house.
So settle down, my lovely,
Fetch me my tea, cook me my toast
You know how I like it
I want this job done, and then that one too
I want them done now
Before you sleep, before you breath even
I love seeing you suffer, it turns me on.
This poem is mostly fiction. It was spawned from listening to Suzanne Vega’s song, Luka.