There is not a world that would have you in it-to live, to breathe, to inhabit and to flourish. All of those that tell you that they love you or need you are lying. There is nothing good about you-no habit or action that is profound or enduring. Nothing to make everyone or anyone smile, but in the still of the night I think that you know all of this and in your helpless hatred you release such malice towards everyone in your path that it is inconceivable that one day you will ever be kind. Listening to the peck and beak of your voice. The ebb and the flow that perceives how the tone carries to my ear, I realize that you will never change and it is this that I can rely upon until you are dead. Dead. In the ground, roting away-turning to liquid-the teeth in your mouth sinking into the ground and your tongue finally silent. I brush away your ashes and pull the flowers from off of your grave walking towards a night of reveille.