3 June 2012
This show-of angers and depresses me like no other.
If I wanted to hear constant whining and bitching, I'd spend the day at my Mother's.
Shut your fat mouth.
Self-important, ego-centric, queen of nothing, who the hell do you think you are?
You as well, oh such a pious hypocrite over there.
Take yourself over to the corner and grow a pair.
This loathing overflows and tastes like bile.
It's a social experiment gone horribly vile.
A train wreck, an Apollo failure.
You need a secured, tight room of your own, vast and cavernous.
So that your own beloved, yakking voice can reverberate to yourself.
What? Oh, no, really. Go right ahead.
It's your stupidity-vacuity you're flouting, all on your head.
I'm done. I think I've said it all.
Every time you open your mouth, I don't know how you have the gall.
Show-of • Opuss № I