I want to beat you to death with a blunt object,
I want to grab one of those high-end fashioned mannequins by the ankles and bash your rib cage in.
I want to sharpen 50 pencils, bind them with a rubber band, stick the lead end in your mouth and punch the erasers.
I gonna strap you to a bed of nails then strap that bed of nails to the hood of my car so i can watch you suffer as we drive over speed bumps in the mall parking lot during an earthquake.
I want you to somehow survive a terrible car crash and somehow not survive a small fender-bender on the way back from the hospital.
—  Poetry - Bo Burnham