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.