A/N: A continuation of "The Best," in which I disassemble the lies laced so carefully in that poem.

I lied.

I said I felt remorse

When I terrorize,

When I ruin,

When I all but murder you

With my angry words.

I feel no remorse.

And you have no right to any

Bitterness,

Or grudge,

Or resentment against me.

We both know I'm right.

I would never have said it if it was wrong,

And we both know that.

How do I really feel?

Accomplished.

Proud.

Happy.

Wicked.

Powerful.

You can't win against me in a shouting match.

While many match my volume,

None match my accuracy.

I have no boundaries,

No weaknesses,

(Except for her)

Anything you can throw at me

Will be brushed off.

Ugly? Fat?

Nerd? Stupid?

Slut? Dyke?

Hurl them as hard as you can,

Nothing can hurt me

(Except for her,

And though I've hurt her too,

Anything you say about her

Will end badly for all involved.)

So, go ahead,

Pick a fight.

But don't complain when you're crawling away

In a heap of emotion and tears.

You decided to pick a fight with me,

The Best,

And, really,

The Worst.