I, The Construct

I, the construct
Of your imagination
Birthed into darkness
And given to inflation
Grow tired and weary
Of your constant hesitation
Give in to indecency
And delicious temptation
Your spirit calls out
For a morsel of deceit
Just a small taste
And a chance to repeat
Your will
Possesses the strength of pure steel
You, wretched waste
You will stumble and keel
Your weak attempts
To extinguish my presence
As an infant, a child
Into adolescence

Now an adult
You stand unafraid
To face the construct
You so purposefully made