Killing is wrong

but plotting is not,

and I want to kill you

deep down in my thoughts.

Of course everyone loves you,

dear Mom and Dad.

But you make me so spiteful,

so furiously mad.

I try to go back

to when I was young;

there was no anger and

no need to hold my tongue.

But now you have done it;

oh, and it’s just great.

You went and called me

a stupid mistake.

Is that all I am to you?

Me, your child.

You wish you’d never had me

so you could party and go wild?

Well sure, I’m a punk and a rebel.

I’ve known that from the start.

But did you have to say that

and break my little heart?

Oh I was born with a dark mind

and a heart slightly colder,

and so I start to create plans and

put things together now I’m older.

So now I try my very best

not to murder you in your beds.

I bite my lip and force myself

not to smash in your heads.

Still you ask why I resent you.

Do you idiots really not see?

It doesn’t take a genius to see it;

look what you’ve done to me!

I finally couldn’t take it,

and swore myself an oath.

To myself, I promised this:

I’m going to kill you both.

Perhaps I’ll stab you, shoot you,

suffocate you with barbed wire.

Sadly, for now, plotting will have

to suit my dark desires.