A bouquet of splinters
And wilting hope,
Is what you laid upon
My weathered grave.

There you stand behind the
Mountain of twilight,
An everclear babe
With candy lips,
And devious diamond eyes.

Grief is but a mask you wear,
And I tear it off...
Everytime.

Nevermore your foolish trophy
With a pretty face.

I am not your angelic joke,
That you curse upon,
Then shamefully kiss,
In the bleeding moonlight.

And so, while I pretend to sleep
In this open casket,
Silver blades emerge from
My fingertips,
And I am not yours.

I seize your wrist,
Painting a crimson slit,
And I am not yours.

Your neck welcomes my dagger,
That purges wishes of old.
And I am not yours.

Your faint, dark eyes
Breathe in hot summer fumes,
Exhaling the winter cold.
And I am not yours.

Never again will I be the one to fall,
You've tried murdering me
Too many times,
And have failed.

Though your mind was clever,
And heart black as coal,
You forgot one small detail...

*-"You cannot kill what you did not create"-*

Creation is possession...

And I am not yours.

























*-In regards to Slipknot's Duality.-*