You're beautiful. You're just the right height to stand in front of me at shows, you're just thin enough that I can feel your ribcage rise and fall with every breath you take when we fall asleep together.

But I'm coming for you, Popsicle Patty. You are so broken. I'm done listening to you praise all of these deceiving people around you for everything they've ever done for you, just to listen to you blow them all off the next day. Popsicle Patty, stop crying, please.

On second thought, "cry me a fucking river, bitch." I held you as you shook and your face turned to salt and your heart turned to stone. And now you're holding onto me as I'm walking away. Popsicle Patty, Triple Threat Tommy sure did a number on you.

I don't know when you started snowballing downhill so fast but I am only one man and am fresh out of helicopters and ambulances, I can't handle any more life flights or tracheotomies, but I'm sure Triple Threat Tommy would be glad to clean your throat with the nearest bottle of vodka and shove a ball point pen into your throat to keep you on life support, if only so he can watch you die again.

You stayed awake through summer like you owned the heat and we stayed up together like we owned each other when we knew the truth. Just like you asked, we pretend we're amazing, instead of what we both know.

You stirred the pot, didn't you Popsicle Patty? You riled everyone up and got every one heated after I left my Mister Valentine. Mister Valentine really didn't mind, oh but you did. You saw the opportunity to collapes and fell right back onto your knees, didn't you Popsicle Patty? Not that I was honestly surprised. You knew how to hurt and you went right for the throat. I'm impressed with your speed, you flew like a bat out of hell. You stripped what faith they had in me within a week, you manipulated, twisted, and joined in with the crowd, just like always.

I fell victim to Popsicle Patty. Maybe I should get tested.

You don't own shit.
Don't you forget about your Mr Halloween.

You. Are so. Broken.