I don’t know who you think you are,
But you don’t fool me.
No, not with what I know about you,
And what you are like.
Oh you see yourself as some great charmer I’m sure,
You great lothario, chin up, hands raised,
Full of yourself,
You think this, and you think that, oh yes,
But I know you alright, the real you,
Fat and ugly, blind to yourself, repulsive, obnoxious,
The epitome of all things rancid.
I will not forget,
The real you,
What you are like.
I will always carry the scars in my soul,
To your inflicted damage.
We all can see, and we all know,
And we will hold it forever, as its only right, just and fitting.
Any normal person would.
And this, my Opus Magnum, will one day shine,
Brighter than any crown or trophy,
Placed on me by you, on Bema Day.
But ‘til then, this I hold, in tightened grip,
Lest in some casual moment of distraction,
I should let it go.