It’s my funeral

I am only what you make me
So am I now made of your violence?
You put the knife into my back
You didn’t mean to, I’m sure
I shouldn’t have left it bare and tempting.
I’ll protest your innocence to God himself,
I’d rather that then let you die a villain,
Because if your facades not real I am nothing,
I was never any good without you.
That’s why I never fled the nest
Why I told stories of laughter
Not tears in the bathroom,  
Why now I crucify my words
And detest my own ambition
For I slept soundly in the bed in which you made me a victim.
And I never tried to leave the house after the fire,
The walls kept their ash and the smell always lingered
But you told me you never meant to burn our home
You wouldn’t mean to burn our home?
You couldn't have known that the fire said no
That the fire didn’t want to
Maybe you got excited by the blaze and misheard?
The flames are too enticing when they're shaped like a young girl
Such a captivating incandescence that glows bright with control,
Power,
Pleasure.
But the fire shouldn’t have looked at you that way,
Otherwise you would have stopped.
It’s the fire fault for flickering,
The knife's fault for shining,
My fault for loving,
Trusting,
Not fighting.
Still I hope you come to visit
When six feet of dirt protects my body from you
And my marble headstone reads
“She said no”,
But I fear you will spit on my grave
And laugh while you say, “not loud enough”
And even in death, I will agree.