I’m
Picking you
Picking you
Picking you out
And
Bleeding you, bleeding you, bleeding you dry with
The
Sharp sheers of my too clever coffee-lipstick-stained
Lord
And the garden variety scorn you Rose-hipped hipsters
Said
Your rosy glasses and tinted cheeks proclaimed, and:
I’m
Casting you
Casting you
Casting you out
The
Immortal, infallible garden of meaningful
Man
And his poetry-stained bedsheets and love bites
Has
Taken to candle lit vigil nights and too tall pedestals, has
Become
More or less himself, of himself, for himself, for nothing, really,
One
With smug sadness and the proud self-aware death
Of
Self-proclaimed martyrdom sold to
Us
Twenty-five percent off at Walmart.
I’m
Taking you
Taking you
Taking you down
To
My level, (game over, hit restart)
Know
That you were always player two and
Good
Intentions are nothing more than fancy dress
And
On your sleeve sit a collection of hearts,
Evil,
They pave the way to hell.