A bitter boy you are,
with twisted words and twisted fangs,
sour lips and bloody knuckles;
boy, you sure do love a good fight.
That’s an awful lot of snickering
for a guy who’s surely bluffing,
and I’m quite certain you know
as well as I, you’re full of shit,
but your tangy hands and acid fingers seem so daunting
when you cast out all your hateful “truths”.
I’m torn between all the love and all the hate,
it’s inevitable that they’d congeal
into a sordid mixture
and so it was a bitter boy
spoiled.