You know what you should really do?

I swear to god, I know I do.

You should walk off a big fucking bridge

And be lost out in the blue.

You should end your worthless life right now

Since you're wasting everything you touch.

The food, the air, the clothes you wear:

The price on your life ain't much.

It's probably like five cents or so,

You stupid, nickel, tripped-out whore.

Suck a dick you fucking dumb-ass bitch;

Your pussy lips are sore,

And you're skinny cuz you're cracked,

And you're ugly cuz you're wasted.

I can't believe your lying lips

Are lips that I have tasted.

What are you waiting for, bitch?—

I can't believe that you're still reading.

Get a fucking knife and start cutting;

No one cares that you are leaving.

OK, so maybe I went a little far;

I'm a little upset, you know?

I figured I would just write this poem

To make sure that you would go,

But surely not to kill yourself—

Just to make sure you leave me be.

You'd be so pissed about my words,

You wouldn't bother me.

And that would be great news,

Since all you bring is shit.

I wouldn't have to wonder if

Your loving is legit.

I don't wonder anymore

Cuz I know that you're a tease,

So get real drunk and call me up—

You can get down on your knees!

And you should pray that your blood-shot eyes

Open up before it's way too late:

You're killing yourself, you’re about to die.

Being brain-dead is real great.