You fucking cunt rug. You despicable twit. Thinking you've got everything right, everything fixed. With a few kind words. And I'll be happy again, like an imbecile, or a hurt puppy. As if my whole life depends on people's approval. When it was so simple: what you had to do was keep your word, and you didn't do it.
You idiotic bastard. You fucking, blithering asshole. Thinking you've got me wrapped around your finger just because you have a dick. When all you can do is stare at me, stare like a bemused moron. Till my inner light will blind you once and for all, till my face burns itself onto your memory. And I'll descend like a tower of fire, to touch the ground for a single breath before I take flight and disappear.
You will pay. Oh, how you'll all pay. I will make you all pay. Because you are not worthy of your title human, άνθρωπος -άνω θρώσκω, κοιτώ προς τα πάνω- turning the stare to the sky, unlike pigs that cannot do that. Because you sacrificed everything for the sake of your ego, or rather, your dick, because all you had to do was keep your mouth shut. Because that thing you've got between your legs, that fleshy protrusion is meant to be filling the gap between our legs in only one way. Like the sky would.
