Fuck the haters and all their spiteful tongues, wiser men than me would quip.
They’re just mad that their Makers didn’t make them so diligently, or are displeased with their result.
Unfortunately, those are the calluses they feel within their fists.
Don’t let anyone make you feel like shit, my mother would quote like it were Scripture. But she didn’t foresee the bigger picture, that they did and they do, and I’m too gullible to ever change.
Be yourself, society offered, but they don’t want what I turned out to be, cause and effect squandered in a killing spree of potential.
But waste not, want not, absence makes the heart grow fonder and once I pass into the yonder you may not mitigate such grief.
Yet, were you correct and I fall between the cracks of
history, delivering me to
afterlife between the lines,
it’s eternity I will abide.
I will survive
time and the
elements, let alone things far more
benevolent, while all your
die with you.
The advice of others can be so flagrantly useless.