Money was destroying the species,
This imaginary concept, this legal fiction, made indispensable.
Contrary to the myths created by the wealthy,
It was not generally obtained by the best,
The smartest, the most cunning, the most industrious,
But by the worst the species had to offer,
The most vile, the most immoral, the most vacant,
Those who would do anything for it at the expense of the world.
Those who often contributed nothing themselves,
Using others to amass their filthy lucre through...
Men without upper lips,
What was the fascination?
With smirks of evil ego plastered upon faces,
Not handsome in any fashion.
Substituting greed for a lack of any balls,
Full of themselves, but not manly, no inner power,
And if anomie came to fall,
They wouldn’t survive, not even for an hour.
Vulgarity and perversity written in their pretense,
Hiding their depraved secrets behind prayers and kids,
Middling intellects and a lack of human sense,
Something off about them all, the moral skids.
...
My name is Sarah Bischoff and I like men who look like rats,
And men who live their lives as sexist bores,
Bigots, charlatans, and greedy infants are my cup of tea, a fact,
The type with big bank accounts, who maintain stables of what they see as slores.
I fall for them every time, because my tastes are just the worst,
I let greed dictate my choices, and then wonder how I was abused,
Maybe because I make myself subservient, or maybe I’m just cursed.
Maybe because I talk and act like an...
Rather amazing,
The capacity for the human mind to convince oneself that one is above everything,
That one is absolved of all guilt when reality says otherwise,
That one is superior through the ability to simply drown in denial,
Impervious to any reason, knowing every accusation rings true but washing it away in an ever recurrent wave of disregard.
She thought herself immune to all remonstrations,
Felt that she could just pretend that her god forgave her and steeled her against the enemy she...
Self-harm had never been an option in his mind,
Excepting maybe at stressful times during puberty, as most experienced.
It was not his bag, and the capacity for it did not dwell in him.
But she, in her vanity, had whispered to the sky that he wanted to die,
Spreading the idea to all who’d listen.
Her ego knew no bounds, as if he’d ever had the thought, it would never have been over one so ugly inside.
At first, he’d thought her simply insane,
But she kept on with it, reporting him, getting...
They were the type of people who pretended that they weren’t all about money, but it’s all they were really about. It was the delusion of the privileged, built upon not having to care about money because they had more than they deserved. They claimed they weren’t greedy but their stock portfolios begged to differ.
She’d called him materialistic, speaking with the same self-serving attitude as they. She claimed that she didn’t judge people by how much they made, but her actions said otherwise....
He had not been confrontational. No, he had been defensive. Defensive because, every time he had an opinion on anything, he was roundly attacked by one of the tribe. But she internalized their slander without question, never bothering to ask, even though it did not match what she had known.
It had started with the blonde, the lobotomized trophy wife to an asshole of bigoted cop, a true ingrate who labeled himself a “patriot.” She had adopted the extremist paranoia of that ignorant sect and...
Oh those vampires, the ones who walk in day,
Not bloodsuckers, per se, but feeding off the living nonetheless,
Taking trust and naivete as cues to target,
Feasting on neuroses and desperation,
Maneuvering, conning, pretending to have beating hearts.
If only she could find another one to take her,
Sure that, this time, she would be turned, instead of used,
She was sure that she could bask in immortality.
There must be good vampires, she told herself.
Internalizing lies told by others, and creating the picture of someone who did not exist,
Casting accusations of mental illness upon one who cared,
When it is you who are ill, paranoid, emotionally deranged, sociopathic.
He was not sick. He was not disturbed. You were, and your insane reactions to friendship, to offered love, are your own proof.
Painting a distorted picture with your warped comprehension,
And aspersing him to others.
Your conception so vacant, your heart so blase, your...
Why do you hesitate?
If the goal is to annihilate any return of feeling,
To ensure that nothing remains,
To prove your disdain,
And follow your trained beliefs,
To break his spirit, end his longing, and send him away forever,
Then show your cards.
Display that romantic farce,
That need to replace daddy that’s come far too soon to be real.
Be proud of it, as that’s what you’ve chosen.
So choose it for real,
Or admit that it isn’t and stop the canard.
If everything you’ve ever said is true, if...
He was forced to relive the betrayal, forced to delve through the lies one again,
Preparing for battle against those she had sent to destroy him,
The evil lies, the willful omissions, the lack of acknowledgement for whom she knew he really was, pretending him a demon when she had known otherwise,
Only desiring to be vindictive and treating him as a dangerous stranger.
The vindictiveness so vile … so evil … so faithless and cruel,
The reek of vanity and insanity so pungent one could choke on...
There was no one left.
He had neither seen a living being, heard a voice, nor felt a touch from anything alive, in just under a year. What had happened was unknown to him. He had simply awoken one morning, March 1st to be exact, to find nothing, not a solitary soul in existence save himself. The only thing that kept him going was some inherent, indefinable drive to survive. It wasn’t hope, but he found it ironic, given that he had once been accused of not having the will. When he contemplated...
Words that speak to no one have no meaning.
Unable to stir a single sentiment,
They drift into the world, but their import dies upon the page,
Not seen, not comprehended,
No heart or mind to appreciate them,
Living their short lives in vain,
Seeking to spur … and spurring nothing,
As the transient significance of the thoughts they carry loses its aim,
And blurs into a disarray of future interpretation,
Missing the mark entirely.
As honesty has not been sought, and atonement left one-sided,
As hands are washed of betrayal and lies,
The blood turning the water red,
As the high road has been razed to dirt,
And the low is the only path remaining,
May all days forward lead to disappointment,
All future connections sour with abuse and debasement,
May all love be false and empty,
And may the days end with pain equal to that which was inflicted.
For belligerence, denial, and a lack of humanity reap their own kind.
She wasn’t going to confess anything.
She wasn’t going to help him.
And she couldn’t care less what he had to say.
Reason didn’t reach her, and she had no capacity to feel actual love.
His words made no impression upon her at all, except maybe to cement her selfishness.
She was low, immoral, a rat, just like her ex, just as vulgar and phony, which is why she had chosen him, always chosen those like him,
And, like him, she didn’t have an honest bone in her body.
Everything about her was an act,...
When you cannot acknowledge past lies, moving on is not an option. For, when the lie remains, it becomes a basis for your thoughts, impinging upon every word, emanating from a tainted heart, sullying every feeling and robbing you of any sincerity. No, you cannot be a liar, commit betrayal, and imagine that anything you say from then on has any semblance of truth. You cannot lie about love and claim to love another. It is usury. Your sentiments are tainted, predicated upon falsity, on escape...
For some, it is the illusion that fuels their life, giving their actions purpose. It doesn’t make a difference if the facts refute the story, if they are at fault as well, as the willful misunderstanding is all that matters, and they cling to it for its own sake, even in a betrayal that calls them depraved.
She knew well what his reasoning was, and why it was. Even when he was lost in despair, ranting and contradicting himself, his plaints and words hyperbolic, she knew that he knew that they...
Psycho.
That was her story, the story she claimed to everyone, adding in her own make-believe embellishments.
He was a psycho for liking her, for not taking no for an answer.
He was a psycho for believing her when she said they were friends,
For talking to her, though never asking her out.
For being happy to have her in his life in one way or another.
He was a psycho for having deep feelings and writing them, for not being a sociopath like those she was used to.
He was a psycho.
He was not the...
There is always a price to pay for treachery.
No matter how justified she felt in lying, she still lied.
She knew she had, but her spite was greater than her conscience,
Greater than her faith.
She had excused herself, and relegated all remonstrations to gaslighting,
When she knew that she was guilty.
She could have had a love for the ages, had what it was she’d been seeking for years,
But her neuroses stood in her way, as they always had,
And she descended into self-pity and paranoia for no...
