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.