Ode to Austin the Bastard

For me to sit here in the jaded void that has become my soul I find it difficult to imagine putting the words together to express the pure unadulterated hate I feel towards you, thanks to your constant belittlement and irritation to my being you my friend, have yourself the bastard child of all things I despise in this world. To see your demise would make an angel weep with joy, the most innocent of creatures would shout with praise to see you obliterated at the feet of all those hurt by you. Feigning innocence you deceive yourself into believing that you are the victim when in fact all who are unfortunate enough to spend more than a day with you are the true victims, God bless and keep them. You treat others like little more than tools and pawns when you yourself have the willpower and self-awareness of an atom. However for such little intellect you are skilled at being a conniving liar or misdeeds. However I have tragically been under your eye for quite awhile now and like a cancer you have taken over many pieces of my life, forcing my subconscious to cease productive activity to devote all time and energy to hating your every neutron, proton, and electron. No more my bastard cohort, no more of this nonsense. And no more of this bastardization of my soul and spirit, which under the severe pressure of your watchful eye has been purged by the hellfire of hatred, impurities present but reduced I have come out, emerged from the fire as a shining ball of fury. My sword is sharpened to the point, and craves your blood to whet its appetite, my armor is crested and well polished, only to be tarnished by being in the presence of your flesh. On my face is an angry grin, My mind will and has raced through the possibilities of how I would bring about your demise, you feign immortality in all of your battles, but look past an acne-ridden exterior and you have but a blubbering mass of idiocy, incapable of an original thought or concept. You are a stain, a mistake, a mark of why Adam and Eve were forced from the garden, and when the day comes that I may smite thee, I will screech with joy at the heavens above, for I at least in my own life, will have gotten rid of an incurable cancer, a stain on the vibrant cloth of humanity, and the sole tumor resting on my skin. Good Bye, Bastard, to say that you were loved or missed is to deny reality itself. May your trip to the afterlife be long and tedious, so that mayhaps all that time to think will peel back your ego, and you may for once accept who you really are, a mistake. 


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