Build it with my own hands

And yes…still…there is a chair beside mine,
empty and not wished to be filled,
but you will always have a place at my table
and yes, the table is not masterful build,
especially because it was crafted by a daft cunt
with power fantasies and a weird twisted sense for irony.
But you know what,
the fiend, the sicko, the deranged, the arrogant
as they say
when they try to break him down,
he just knows that not everything is always easy.
You cycle through phases in life
like you’re the last at the Tour de France,
screw up, fall down
move on, burn bridges to get a head-start
and I was ready to
quit the race more than once.
You should know, I don’t know what it is,
you’re going through.
I don’t know what it is
that’s going on inside your head.
It’s something I can’t grasp and maybe
I’m imagining that
I ever could have.
I know that now. I’m a psycho and
you’re a real soul with sociopathic tendencies
and I like us like that.
Nonetheless
you’ll always have a place at my table,
and the table can be robust,
hold a lot of conversation
if you let me sit at it.
I’m a good listener,
even if that’s all I’m good for.

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