The depth of your ineptitude--
Uncalloused skin is a lie.
The world is my callous,
And i am not so sensitive.

I know death like the back of my hand
For every disgusting swine that said i'm not cultured enough
I haven't read enough books
I haven't listened to enough of Gabriel's pointless rambling--
I know death like the back of my hand

And i am the master of this universe,
Not you,
Though you may be some high, or re-processed version of myself
You cannot be anything except me
Because i am everything

And if i have made you my *****
I have made myself my *****,
So *******.

I am the best poet here,
Though you may disagree,
I am also the only audience,
Though this may appear strange to me!

Karen will not be allowed
To speak to a manager
Because
She is not even real
A ***** in the Wind