Tell Me Analysis

Tell me how much I make you suffer. Tell me you are sick of me. Tell me you hate my guts. Tell me why the trees turn green. Tell me what heaven is. Tell me what a grocery store is, what a dog is, what the word red means. Tell me what night is like in Copenhagen, what death is like in China, how it feels to swim in the Sea. Tell me all the places where I need to lose weight. Tell me not to eat. Tell me a story about Splenda. Tell me to try a tapeworm. Tell me you love me and are very sorry. Tell me about all the other women you’d rather fuck. Tell me to do it like that. Tell me, no, not like that, are you stupid? Tell me I am too ugly to be married to you. Tell me to get off my ass and get a job. Tell me how much you love me. Maybe start a church. Tell me about dogteeth. Tell me about acid rain. Tell me how twins swallow each other in the womb. Tell me about the weight of oranges. Tell me I am lucky you don’t walk out on me. Tell me to stop playing the martyr. Tell me it is time to grow up. Tell me: you can't be a baby, now, not anymore. One day you'll have to learn how to walk in big girl shoes.
Dreamboat I meet him in the supermarket, where he is buying cans and cans of Coca Cola. Hey little sparrow, what brings you to the beverage aisle? He is a dreamboat, but
His eyes are the whole ocean. How does even that work? Does he turn himself inside out daily? Or does he float on the sea of reason, the sea of ignorance, the sea of loneliness, the only sea that always leads back home? He's the kind of man girls pluck daisies for.
He's the kind of man you could lose yourself in, but don't lose too much of yourself, if you know what I mean. What I mean