You make me want to vomit.
Plain and simple.
No questions asked.
I want to lie on the floor. Think of you. Remember how you disgust me.
And vomit.
I wish no foul harm upon you,
but keeping your distance is advised.
I'm not a violent person.
But not quite proned to your lies.
I saw through the bullshit.
Saw through envy, greed, gluttony.
And I saw you in the middle of all of this.
Dont assume that I love you.
Because you wont make an ass out of you and me.
Just you.
But you're gonna wind up doing that anyway.
You're pathetic.
Feeding off other people sympathies.
Trying to get them to wipe your tears away.
When what you need is a good swift boot to the face.
You try to be all Coyote Ugly.
Dont try again.
You're just ugly.
And not hungry like the wolf,
more like gluttonous like a mad cow.
And you are a disease.
Youre not my disease.
You're just the world's problem.
I'd say I wanted you in a leper colony.
But we couldnt find another place to put the lepers.
I'd try to silence your incesent voice that feels like grinding fingers on a cheese grater.
You're nothing but a fucking nub.
Go clean the fuck up.
And while you're at it throw some miracle grow in there too.
Because you need to grow the fuck up too.
This isn't poetry.
This isn't prose.
This isn't even me being creative.
This is me venting.
Unloading a bullet that should have been lodged within your feeble mind a long time ago.
You're about as deep as a bowl of mashed potatoes.
Which is funny because I've had more intresting conversations with potatoes.
I've had dreams about grabbing you by your neck and shaking you like a rag doll.
Making you eat the words that you use to hurt everyone else and make it seem like you're the victim.
It's easy to talk shit when someone is several hours away isnt it?
I'm starting to think this entry hits hard doesnt it?
I've got real friends.
I've got someone to love dumbshit.
I don't need a confessional booth as long as they will all listen to it.
And dont think about going near them cuz I'll do you in.
You think this battle is ending, but it has yet to begin.
You dont touch, you dont speak, you dont look, you dont eat and you dont think of me.
Think of me as someone who is a stereotype.
Who is another facade.
Because I march to the beat of a different drummer.
And in my mind that motherfucker is rapping you on the head.
Taking every chance I can to humiliate you because it's all I can stand.
The only way I will ever talk to you because you just make me sick.
You make me want to vomit.
May the embers of a beautiful day never grace your wicked soul.

(For my handful of good friends on here. (and by handful, I mean 2) I want to thank you for being so god damned wonderful. And dont worry about this. This was just a bunch of bottled up shit about someone that I had to get down.)