I don't remember the first day I saw you.
I know you were a pink little thing, though
squirming and squealing.

I can easily recall the last.
Calling it a fond memory would be far too much of an overstatment,
now.

I don't know if you want to become a stranger
or if I'm forcing you to.
But either way, its happening

If I existed closer to you
would I be able to help?

I am not sorry for wanting you;
I am sorry for being quiet about it.

You're disgusting
A bottom feeder of the worst kind
A successful one
Who steals from those you're supposed to be close to
And kills them for so much
as following their dreams


I hate you will all my heart
And I doubt that will ever change