Jane, you ignorant slut.
Gawd how I despise you and the ground you walk your lavish self-absorbed ass on.
You disgust me.
Is it hate?
You sicken me.
You are a waste of skin.
You are disconnected from this living, breathing world because you are so wrapped up in your own mediocre and aimless existence. You don’t see beyond your thick and glossy eyelashes.
You wear your personality in your flesh.
Your body, your physique, is the embodiment of your intolerably selfish and vain imitation of personality.
Your world does not extend beyond the length of your arm as it holds a cellphone to your ear while you drone on, reciting your mindless drivel to the unfortunate soul on the other end of the line.
You would be even more pathetic if you didn’t elicit such a deep sense of compassion from that most shamelessly decent portion of my psyche.
But you are a piece of crap.
You are shady and duplicitous. Lacking soul, lacking heart, lacking humanity, you are a lowest common denominator human being.
You are spineless and simpering, a sycophant, but you are a woman and these shortcomings present themselves as mere female absentia, a disunion of spirit and reality.
Something just occurred to me about you. I think I know what I loathe about your skanky ass the most.
You are not earnest.
There is nothing in your soul that is earnest.
You go through the motions of existence, but you do nothing to perfection.
You do nothing for the satisfaction of doing it. Your mind, your spirit, your heart, encircled by a moat of disinterest and boredom. You walk through your life like a bad actor and you treat everyone in your life like two-bit actors lucky to even share your stage.
Your body is your mind.
Gluttonous, excessive, lazy, slothful.
You are surrendered to the experience of sensuality and nothing else.
Sensuality in emotions and interactions. Simplicity bores you and all relationships are treated as intrusive repetition and the only time you come alive is when sparks of ire are kindled in your soulless bosom.
You are ignorant, and beyond that, a moron. Nothing in life holds a fascination for you. Your mind is as narrow as a remote underground cave pathway. And as dim. Only your self-involved detour of the moment captures your attention. And what a parade of those you entertain through your life.
Your mental distance, your untraceable and self-directed aloofness, they are afflictions.
If just once you would surmount the tangible for the immaterial and embrace that which eludes logic. Just once.
And why do I think about you?
I’m addicted to your offerings of misery and impersonality.
You are such a fucking waste of skin.