Excuses Are For Boys, Not Men

I must have been bored, settled
for a boy with the name of a 5 year old,
height of a 12 year old. I should have
known you wouldn’t be much more.

Mr. CENSOR “Danger” CENSOR,
pfft, danger please.
I’ll show you what danger
is; soon you will see.

It’s no wonder you’re fiancé left
and you’re living at 28 with a cat—
Iron Man, Bruins, doesn’t make you
a man, just a dud who can’t find
a women foolish enough to stay.

Everything was quite lame:
amateur screenplays,
the way you’d say my name,
tell me stories while I
would listen patiently in pain.

I put on quite the face, don’t I?

You never would have expected

the things I am capable to do; how
my mind can figure ways to truly
screw with a boy like you.

You’ll have no chance now
finding anyone but a paid whore–
well you couldn’t even manage that,
you’re far too poor, pathetic.
I was most definitely bored.

So feed me your excuses; plead
you didn’t know, you’re sorry
and whatever other bullshit
falls out your useless mouth
and watch while I peal pieces
of you away, stripping you down–

you can't be saved.