I brood, and I snarl with disgust, watching you slither
your voice is but a whine pitched deep in my ear
a whine that I want to stop
a whine replaced by a blade?
Pin pricks dotted with blood
you yelp and you disclaim
Am I suppose to hear your sorries
am I suppose to really believe you are sane?
I know the voices I hear are my own
there are no others within my head
So here is the fear that you must accept
I am always going to make you pay.