You disgust me.
You know the truth.
You know it in that dark and putrid thing you call a heart.
You worry about the thoughts of others, while pretending that you dont, but you cant hide your desperate seeking of approval, you sit there fawning and simpering like some abused puppy, but unlike the puppy, you have no redeeming quality, no feeling of loyalty.
It is cold comfort to find that others know it as well.
You may deny it, stupid and immature and pathetic, but your denial makes it worse.
You are so selfish it makes me sick, and you dont even notice that you are a blemish on the face of humanity, an ugly stain on life in general, a waste of time and space, a black hole that sucks in anything good, taking it, twisting it, perverting it into something base, disgusting, wrong.
You are the deformed social butterfly, trying to stay airborne when every rule of nature should force you to the floor, to be put out of your misery, too many wings flapping in too many directions, an abomination of creation.
You are too weak to cope on your own, and too parasitic not to destroy those that you use.
You are pathetic beyond endurance, obtuse to the point of ridiculousness, and too self-centered to ever be a valid part of human existance.
You fail to appreciate the things that you have, you belittle them by complaining and whining, never happy, never seeing the good in things. You see only what you are mirrored in the things around you. You can see no good points because you have none. Any attempt at finding them just leads you to focus on how much is missing.
The mask is slipping, the facade that you pretend not to keep is falling apart and you frantically clutch at its pieces, hiding your true face, the same visage you hide from yourself when you look at your reflection, lest you see what i see.
