Call me crying, sweetheart.
The sound of you cracking,
would be a joyous symphony
to lonely ol' me.
Your defeat would only affirm
my prophesy.

I love you, kid.
But that doesn't mean
I don't want you to be
absolutely miserable.
Get ******, call me bitter,
cruel, or a synonym of sorts,
but allow me to remind,
my use of the word "love".

I saw you stand alone.
You had a majestic, individual soul,
now you are a blinking projection,
of what some hungry boy wants
you to be.

How often do you see him
when you don't undress?

How often do you whisper,
"I love you" without making a mess?

I hope all your thoughts
are second thoughts.
I hope all your fantasies
turn to lucid dreams.
I hope your tethered body
tears from the seams.

I love you, kid,
and I want only victory.