The Gift

You have no place in my wandering thoughts
but mutual acquaintances
sometimes raise your name
or I'll you will appear
like a rat
at places I go to relax,
infesting the airspace
with your boorish
HUHUHUHUHUH
What ever it is you're laughing at,
it's not that fucking funny.

Every time I see your arrogant
smirk
I want to slam my fist into your mouth
and turn your teeth into shrapnel,
reform your conniving smile
and make it more honest.

I don't
because I don't want to feel like a witless animal,
because everyone thinks it's okay that you
cheat
lie
deceive
betray
connive
mislead
and manipulate,
but physical violence is for some reason less acceptable.
But most of all
because you would call the cops.

It's almost tragic
you'll never receive my gift;
you'll never have the world go black so fast it seems like you moved backwards in time.
You'll never get to say to yourself,
in a strange moment of clarity
holy shit, I'm actually seeing stars.
You'll never smell the sick and heavy aroma
of celery and battery acid
and taste it on the roof of your mouth.
But most importantly,
I wont be able to show you truth
by delivering you
for
a
precious
moment
from your amazing pretension.