your four to my nine
your pale to my luminesce
your density to my pure brilliance
your lower bases to my edifice highness
your grossness to my sublime refinement
your anguished noises echoing your emptiness
your delusions speaks your shame and insecurities
yours is finding refuge in mendacity and your poverty of wit
your little tools and limits of your incapacity enshrines your rages
yours are the open sores that weeps in defiance pointing bent fingers