To You, with Contempt, My Forever Friend

To the Hypocrite.

I saw you sniveling, crawling, pawing at the door of my trust;
Your nails were dirty but painted and the paint scratched;
Your eyes were lustful and full of luster that shines white lies.
I'd reach out far for a conceit to do you merit but alas,
I feel exertion must be in proportion to the goal in mind.

When you sit in other’s living rooms and speak of me
As though dead, I feel the cold wind at the back of my neck;
Words you breathe against me are brought softly to my ear.
I feel like reaching out far to strangle your deceitful throat
But your fetid, feckless, fussy little face, forms in my mind

At times you come and look into my eyes, with shame lingering
In the corners of yours and I am sickened by your guilt
And I am angered because I know you know I know;
You know I reached out far to help you when you needed it;
I hope I get the chance -and know I will- to see you bleed.