Boy, do I looove you
And God only knows I can’t be the only one
But if I spit those words into your Happy Meal,
I think you might actually start to cry
(He’s not loving it, in fact,
he never could, for it isn’t in his nature to love

Or at least to love me)

Puny, frail things catch your attention left and right
Like the bright colored toys wrapped in plastic
You rip each one of them open and play your games
Of make believe and pretend
Until the first time it falls off the table,
Or into the mud
And you couldn’t give less of a ****
The toy will shed a tear, and you will say it’s being a *****

But I know your double cheeseburger soul
Craves more than what you physically desire
But the guilt of eating unhealthy food
Has never stopped you before