I’m frantically scrambling, panicking, dealing with demand for me…
At hand, you see, are three beautiful needs that plead not to bleed.
One’s kept quiet on land with a creek by it, neighbors don’t exist…
It’s held her long, the house so strong, though she’s an escape artist.
Another’s chained down underground, basements prove soundproof…
Aloof is the truth that’s held underfoot as floorboards acts as her roof.
The third is my bird, never a harsh word, and never a harmful tone…
My bride forever must never get clever to the fact my sanity’s flown.
Juggling three seems to be beyond me, my attentions get diverted…
I’m torn apart by three different hearts, two of which think I’m perverted.
But there’s no breaking free for two of those three, I claim ownership…
There used to be four but I drowned the whore, my name on a floater’s lips.
But as I try to handle, I feel dismantled, torn apart by my women…
I give so much and yet my touch seems to fade on them like denim.
Traversing the woods, only trail I could, the autumn leaves urge me on…
Whispering wind beckons me to end, this game of king and pawn.
She won’t love me back and that’s fact, so into the river with her…
Before she goes I remove her clothes, and other incriminating fiber.
If she’d shown patience with our relations, she’d have known love…
But my persuasion was sedation cuz loving me she couldn’t think of.
Now into the liquid land she sinks, the current pulling her under…
And the irony wasn’t lost on me when it started to rain and thunder.
Such a storm I’ve worn, heart on sleeves, so bloody hands follow…
And I’m bent on ending these because I know their hearts are hollow.
So below I go after warming from the rain and traveling for hours…
To inflict pain in the subterrain and show off all my powers.
No water so it’s slaughter, and since this is my very last one…
I savor every mark of the razor, because soon it'll all be done.
Torn apart, dismembered, my conscience bathed clean in blood…
That’s how I spent last September, getting back to the one I loved.
A one woman man is now the plan, but now and then I miss it…
Because the rush of rape when I’d penetrate used to feel so exquisite.
But I’m good now, sanity’s returned, and I really think I can cope…
With seeing all the beautiful women, that I’d rather see on a rope.
Hostility’s quelled, urges felled, the two me’s are no longer combined…
I’ve done my best to lay him to rest, rapist and murderer left behind.
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