Pretty Things.

Ruminate on all your misdeeds,

shortcomings and why they all leave,

you’re a miserable fucking cunt,

an abhorrent and spiteful drunk,

with a penchant for breaking pretty things.

You can’t even look at yourself in the mirror,

no drink strong enough in the world to help swallow that fear,

that you’ve known the truth about yourself all along,

you are nothing, you offer nothing, you do not belong.

A worthless outcast so frightened to take the next step,

you will wander all your life,

find only loneliness,

and strife.

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