Smile, he tells me.
You're more beautiful when you smile, he tells me.
You're the most beautiful and perfect thing in the world, he tells me.
I love you, he tells me.
But what a hypocrite - he can't really smile.
I am happier than he, but he smiles more.
But he doesn't mean it. I do.

Every single word that comes out of his mouth is beautiful.
Every thought that strides through his pretty mind is beautiful.
He can do no wrong; he can think no wrong.
He wants the gun to lovingly kiss his neck.
He wants the rope to caress his neck.
He wants the pills to meet his blood and introduce themselves to each one of his cells, where they will be greeted and welcomed with open arms. There's a bridge that wants to see him fly, and he wants to please it.
These things can’t be wrong because he wants to do them.
Nothing he could do could ever be wrong.