Will the people I get ****** with
Put stones on my grave
When the masses decide to stone me
Will they laugh or turn away
When there’s roaches in the kitchen
And not in the ash try
Will they look for someone better
Or will they stick with me till it’s okay

Been stepping on the roaches again.
Couldn’t see them on the black tiles.
Next time I should remember to put the light on.
Because now I got bug matter all over my shoes.

It is hard to notice the little people,
When you are big and wondering around in the dark.
Please take notice of where you step,
Because you might be stepping on someone else.

Oh please look down,
I may be small,
But that doesn't mean I don’t exist at all!
Can you hear my little bug voice from way up there?!
You are about to silence it forever!

The next time you take a step,
Consider what it may do to another,
Because you may end up with a squished roach on the tiles.

I saw what's a writtters block
words accummulated
on a bubble
in complete disorder
big smalll and all kindsofonts
like a back pain
or a sore tooothh
trying to go thrugh a funnell
with no musik to push them through
there are no imaginary worlds
it is all real

you repugnant *******!
you keep me wondering
just why god created you

they say He has a reason
for everything. Why he created you
I still don't understand. but lately
i wonder if you were created
just so i could have this day
to myself.

full of filth, creepy as hell
disgusting at the sound
of your belly being squashed

but for the sake of justice,
i sprayed you with my favorite
perfume.
not because i have a pint of love for you
but because every opportunity to end your life
should be fully taken advantage of.

i watched you die. it was slow.
first your legs uncoordinated,
you scrambled for the walls
but they failed you. they did fail you.
then you choked. i could almost hear it
you thought of the darkest place
to dig your grave. but not on my marble floor

i watched you die. i wanted it faster
but the sweet smell of the Hugo Boss
and the death of a scape goat...
a scape roach,
was bearable.

maybe you deserve a soundtrack
or a more befitting burial in a bin
but a poem for you is totally undeserving
save for my joblessness.

So you have turned me into a rock
A quiet still hard cold rock
I’m burning to speak
And tell you how I really feel
That I can’t stomach you
But I know I board the plane in a few hours
And for this I find peace
Enough peace to remain the rock
From you I have gained nothing but tolerance
And the knowledge that you should never travel to meet someone that you met online
At least not without a backup plan
I can’t fake a headache or the flu and ask to be politely excused
I so wish I could - grab my bag apologize sincerely - and run for the door
I would think it would be worth giving you my opinion - just to appease me
But in the same thought an overpowering realization that even you are not worth that energy
You might possibly even thrive on it
Like a roach thrives on raid once the poison has lost its ability to throw the bug on it’s back kicking
So I instead will bite my tongue
And do my best to keep my eye rolling to a minimum…when I’m in your peripheral…