The kind of boy that would bathe you in gasoline then give you the lighter. Sit on a throne right in front you.
Waiting for you to set your whole self on fire. He’s a matchmaker you see. He wanted your scorching soul to match your body.
The kind of boy that would tie you up on a chair.
Fuck a girl you despise before your eyes. He’ll get turned on by the idea of you hurting, crying over his actions. He’ll let you see every bit of it. Especially his content after he ejaculates.
The kind of boy that will say that’s it? when you’ve given him your honor, desire, self-worth, ambition, this thing called virginity. Gave up your education, your family, your fucking sanity. Your skin in pieces, hair or whatever is left. Gotten your hands dirty. Your dress.
Your makeup or whatever is left.
Your mental health was dangling off a string.
You let him cut it.
He said that’s it? So, yes, of course. You took 3 bottles of sleeping pills, devoured them whole. Drank them with a nice bottle of Whiskey; your favorite. You brushed your hair or let us say, whatever is left. Wore your favorite filthy dress and rested your body in your coffin.
A tombstone saying forever his.
It’s all that’s ever left of you to offer anyway.