• Drinking, cheating and lying about it too.
    Well, isn’t that just the cool thing to do?

    As you grow “prettier”, you’ve reached an all-time low.
    And you’re a frustrating stereotype too, don’t you know?

    The popular peroxide-blonde with caked-on makeup.
    Hiding how ugly and cold she really is close-up.

    Bones sticking out from under your skin.
    Trying to starve the self-loathing within.

    Three inch heels to equal yourself and the others in height.
    To feel superior over those who do not cry themselves to sleep each night.

    Dozens of “friends” you have that all kiss the ground you walk upon.
    Whose faces you push down in the dirt to make it feel as though you’ve finally won.

    Love you they don’t.
    Help you they won’t.

    Act as your servants and loyal allies.
    Because they fear your dagger-sharp lies.

    Eventually they’ll all get enough.
    And stop pretending it’s you they love.

    All on your own, you’ll tear yourself apart.
    When they’ve driven a dagger through you’re oh so dark heart.

    Yours truly is the only one who needn’t to be your slave.
    And for that, I know you’ll loathe me ‘til the grave.

    To isolate and ridicule everything I am or might be.
    It’s funny how you think you can actually get to me.

    I thought the hardest thing I was ever to do
    Was to keep myself from hating you.

    But worry not, for you do plenty of hating for the both of us.
    Pity would be better fit, astonished as I am by your persona’s bleakness.

    I know you cannot last long the way you’re living now.
    And that you wished you could be more like me somehow.

    For the time being, all appears well in your precious life.
    But it won’t be long before all see the problems with which it’s rife.

    So as my wisdom and patience continue to expand.
    I predict that your life shall be ended by your own hand.

    I care little for your feeble-minded puppets and you.
    And laugh at the thought how hating me is the cool thing to do.