Your poetry is pretentious.
Your letters tell me how deeply shallow you are.
Your smile,so genuinely fake,
Your wallet filled with titanium cards.
That expensive perfume which fail to mask the stink of your many deceptions.
Your eyes glazed over with last night's whiskey,
That two day stubble which makes you feel like a man,
At the end of each day you look in the mirror,
and you see yourself,for one brief moment for the scared little boy that you really are.
But you turn your back on the mirror and flash those pearly whites at your next conquest; and thus begins,another,extremely meaningless day in your life.