a poem i made in maths when i was bored

Tossing these scissors in my hand,

hope I slip so I can make a stand,

to fight for respect and take no regrets,

let this blood spattered hand be my sign,

so that I never again will be able to whine,

to hurt someone again and again,

will be my undoing in the end.

Nail this hand to the cross,

and soon enough ill be the boss,

to smite this land of all its beliefs,

and show it the way to eternal damnation.