One

There's poison in these veins,
running hot and rampant,
cursing every action I so choose to take.
And it's derived from your words,
those sickly sweet masterpieces you spew
to her, but not to me.
Not anymore.

And there's a taste of hate on my tongue,
hanging from the canines I hold dear,
waiting to strike,
to cut through your jugular,
to take you down.
Because it's what you deserve.

There's no choice at this point,
it's us and them.
And between us, babe,
I'd take them any day.
They won't stab me in the back,
make me bleed out and turn away.
Ironic, how I can trust them,
when I've known you longer.

But we've got no point anymore,
not here, not anywhere.
This is a child's game,
and I'm playing to see you cry.
Watch you fall,
scrape your knee,
run to her, or your mommy.
Because they'll cure you with lies.
When all I ever did was treat you to truth.

Guess it's not the gun to my head I should be worried about,
but the knife in my back, in the end.
With your hand at fault,
who else can I blame?
I knew it all along.
I was just lying to myself.
And therein lies the irony.