I vomit on your face.
You've fallen from grace.
It is not only me -
They all want it and try
To gain a victory -
To see you're gonna die.
I dispose of the source of a sick feeling.
I could stop the acts of violence and killing.
But you, wicked bitch, have the limitless chutzpah,
So you'll get your death that won't be faster.
I don't write down your name
Not to erase it later.
I don't shout it to blame -
Minds shouldn't be the shelter.
I just destroy your fetid fame,
Your hopeless clarity, your glory.
Good luck! And wish me, please, the same
To push you down from the upper storey.
01.01.2020