You must think your something special
As you rampage around the office
A raging bull on parade
A one woman show
Tearing through flesh with your
Pointy devil horns.

The sound from your throat
Is kin to a screeching hyena
Holding a megaphone
To its rotting stoma.
And the expression on your face
Reminds me of a rabid baboon
With wicked indigestion
Locked in a steaming sauna.

It makes me sick to
Kiss your flat, shapeless ***
And muster a semi-genuine smile
With that grotesquely arranged expression
You call a greeting, reflected in my
Eyes every tortured morning
Your 7am demands rain down on me.

Too soon, my pet
I will be leaving this place
Shedding the protective clothing
Ive worn to this hazardous waste
disposal site, you call 'your office'
And the toxicity of your
cruel, malicious comments will evaporate
With the rays of a golden sun.

But you, my pet
Will be left with the gray stormy clouds
You attract to all who are around you
Pouring, and hailing down the **** storm
You pathetically call, your life.