There’s a darkness inside me no one can lighten.
It is scorned and crippled, yet thriving. Sparked by the combustion of righteous anger and fueled by the unrighteous who point their fingers at me.
Maybe I’m perverse, broken, twisted. I don’t care.
I’d rather be twisted and real than unblemished and suffocated.
I’ll take shadows and free breathing over straight jackets and perfection any day.
I’ll sit on the pews in Hell and wait for Heaven to go up in flames.
You oppressed me, choked me, beat me, bound me.
You took away the light, so I learned to see in the dark.
You took away my voice, so I learned to speak without it.
If I can’t see, I’ll make love to that eternal night and watch as it comes.
If I can’t sing, I’ll carve my serenades with blood and let the Saints read my words when I’m dead.
Thus, with my blood, it is written:
When you damned me, you set me free.
