Beat me, eat me, treat me bad
I can feel me going mad
youre a fool and youve been had
you fuckin stupid redhead
I hate your guts and hope you die
a slow and painfull death
no I do not tell a lie
I have just altered the truth
now youre dieing at my hand
your blood is on my hands
holding a knife, I´m on my knees in the sand
I lough outloud
and hope you hear the sickness in my voice
cause your existance has been annoying
youre just an irritateing noise
and now I turn down your volume

-The Poet