I think I’m going to be sick,
Your contemptible *******-ish
Behaviour is rubbing off on me
Stealing pieces of me, elevating
Me to such a height that
When you inevitably drop me and
I shatter, my shrapnel showers down
Cuts and slashes, gashes and grazes
All those I ought to protect

No more will I be here for you to collect!
You may be mamma’s blue-eyed-boy
But remember pride comes before the fall
So be careful, the hurt hearts
You’ve abandoned means
Your record needs reconciling