The Chosen

Last night a moth came to my bed
And filled my tired, weary head
With horrid tales of you.
I can’t believe it’s true.
But then the lamp shade smiled at me,
It said, “Believe,” it said, “Believe.”
I want you to know it’s nothing personal.

First time I had sex, I was three.
First time consenting was thirteen.
Though you weren’t there, you remind
Me of those hands.
Roses are red, violets are blue.
If I’m schitzophrenic, then I am too!
Whatever it takes to escape.
I hope you understand
Why I’m forced to take your life in my hands.
I want you to know it’s nothing personal.
And though we’ve never med
I’ve seen your image in a million waking dreams.
Your eyes, they call to me, “Set me free.”

Did I ever tell you, you look like my mother?
She once left me in a supermarked.
I promised myself that I’d never feel that way again.
Did I ever tell you, you look like my dear old mother?
I hope you understand
Why I’m forced to take my life in your name.
I want you to know, it’s nothing all the same.
And though we’ve never met
I’ve seen your image in a million waking dreams.
Your eyes they call to me, “Set me free”

It’s not easy being the chosen.

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