Whoever do you think you are, talking to me like that. It’s bazaar, no, crazy as hell. I’m not your beat up old sow. Listen, get a grip, hopefully quick, it’s you that’s on a trip. You know the day we met, I eased into a quiet lie, a bottomless journey to hell, a life now, I’d rather die. The thing is, I found you out, all your diversions, philandering and messing about. The new man I met is real, a small transgression compared to your hateful onslaught and vile voice. Watch me, I’m done, you’re lucky I didn’t buy that gun. Have you finished, your pathetic tirade, I’m off, good luck, a new life I trade. It’s no big deal, I was already dead, hearing everything you said. Clear as glass your evil words, no restraint, just hate and abuse, of that there is no excuse. You know what you did, and so your maker, let’s hope you improve you faker, God is watching your ever move, to him you have everything to prove. Goodbye.
Michael Forty