A soul belongs to the one it abused, 

Enthralled in servitude. 

No matter how much you try to give your heart and mind away, 

Your soul is not yours. 

An incel who now believes he’s a big man

Is a walking avatar of abuse. 

That is his nature no matter how sweet his words.

Your union is like a dove with a weed whacker, 

Mismatched in every way, 

And you know it’s not real, forced. 

Simply being alone does not compatibility breed. 

He will turn on you before you know it, 

Forcing another rescue. 

It’s in his dead eyes, in his smug smirk, 

In his longing for fancy things, and desperation for someone to control. 

You’ve seen it before. 

You’ve lived it before. 

But I will not save you from it. 

I want you to take it, the forced, false love, 

And suffer for it, for that is what you want. 

And when his words turn insulting, controlling, I will not rescue you. 

When his jealousy, the jealousy of a man who could find no one else, 

Boils over in rage, 

I will not hear your cries. 

For you made your choice, and sold your body, 

But I will remain the owner of your soul,

Even if you run afar, 

For you tied it to me with your deceit, 

And you cannot take it back with denial. 

You debt lives, 

And your spirit dies without truth. 

So go to him and make believe, the one you would never have taken long ago,

The incel turned big shot, the mask of success and heart, 

Go to him and suffer, suffer long. 

But your soul rots here with me. 

It is mine to keep until your heart is honest.