Titillating. Titular. Title.

His Mother never loved him they’ll say;
No, I loved him too well Shey’ll say.
His Father never spoke to him they’ll say;
We never had much to say He’ll say.
Ding dong the witch is dead we’ll say;
He never took responsibility She’ll say;
We couldn’t be prouder He’ll say.

I wish I were a tree I’ll say
I wish I were happy I’ll say

Come to me
Come and see
The raving kid
As he performs before
Audience applause galore
His abhoring fans adore
His mistletoe kisses
And fanciful wishes
Of fairy tale bitches.
Into the ocean he pours
A little bit more
Of marrow begotten
From friends he’s forgotten
Whom he’ll see nevermore

With his body like glass
Sinking faster than fast
What tricks, what repast.

On fingers of bone
Sucked cleaner than home
All that’s left his hallowed skeleton
Strewing marrow with every wasted gesture

And as his eyes turn to see
What he has left to be
The crowd is gazing back
Unappreciating his act.
It’s only killing while the lad
Is killing himself awhile.
Now, it all seems so sad.
The lights fade to black,
The curtain closes–snap

And that’s all that was left to see
Of all the kid was meant to be
I hope it was thrilling
I hope it was chilling
Because that’s all he ever hoped to be.

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