A Mouthful of Forked, Peppered Bias

I reach for my fork and knife. I lick my lips to taste the empathy and I feel contempt in the aftertaste. I embrace change, yet change engulfs me. I cut through the flesh; the flesh rips & tears under the goaded sharpness giving way to nothingness and within that lies your purpose. I bring with me an appetite, a craving, a seething opinion and yes, it is scarred and spattered with another for it cannot be sheathed, gleaming or pure.

The bigger you get, the smaller your heart grows; the weaker your purpose becomes. I cannot possess you and you cannot be me. In your ever present pomp and falseness, your existence becomes more and more ludicrous. Do you see me laughing? Or celebrating you? I can only feel empathy and yet it reeks of contemptuous aftertaste from the moribund moments I leave behind. This ferocious banality is the foster child of your ego that has walked three paces ahead of you and decimated every friend, any good gesture and even the basic open hand of compassion that greeted you as you strolled intoxicated in your pigheadedness.

Today, your ego walks five paces ahead of you. I await your fall. I see it bemoaning in the horizons, sounding the gongs of loss, beating the drums of antipathy, swirling to the dirges of compositions that simulate your violent drowning. The hordes follow aimlessly, polishing their daggers, breathing black fumes, marching hungrily towards you. My hands are warm and my heart glows with simplicity. In contrast, your kindness and depravity have tasted more and more bitter over the years as the kindness died away. Since the time I have known you, you have corrupted everything that surrounds you. You are winner, a star and a complete utterly failed human. Your wounds cannot heal for they are scars of those who you have failed. Failed, my lonely one.

Good night old friend; I will see you in hell. For I am becoming you.