Boxcutter, Baby

You’re in my head like a boxcutter, baby.
Are you here to prove all those schoolboys right?
Every afternoon I contemplated the knife.
The sick fact I want to be some lost little boy’s good Christian wife?
Does your violence want me?
Could your right side love me?
How I live and I make believe.
I want to live and to make believe.
Your silence provides a white blanket,
For me to tear and spit on.