My sharpest parts
are parallel
to your dull bits.

My quick wits
slice open
your dangling bits
as all of your *******
leaks out of
that flesh bag
and broken brain
you claim
is great.

Sic sewage water
backs up
and flows out
when you shout about
your social outrage.

Stinking mess
of hateful rage
cause you hate your days
so, to feel better
you want to spread
the pain
like spoiling butter
on crusted up
and rotting bread.

Halfway dead,
walking corpse.
What a waste
of potential.
You could have
sharpened your pencil
and penned
a symphony
of love and wonder
for our shared humanity,
but all you let out
are vapid spouts
of fetid breath.
Till, you burn yourself
with all that sourness.