A/N: A semi-hate poem directed mainly at a choice person I don't like at the moment. That's putting it too kindly. Joke's on her, though, she'll never see this. But it'd be nice to think she'd sneeze a little.

What amazing lack of thought you have—
You never seem to care.
What awesome sense of style you have—
You copy all our flair.
What dreadful vacant eyes you have—
You always blankly stare.
What narrow points of view you have—
It's the labels that you wear.

I hope the wolf eats you and the huntsman is delayed.
I hope you get digested in your futile masquerade.
I hope you wear your yellow when you travel through the woods;
The beasts may come to get you if you play Red Riding Hood.

You've never lied about lacking it.
Maybe you should fake it.
Maybe you could rake it.
Maybe you should snake it.
Maybe you're a flake.

Yes, you're a flake – there's no sense in denying it,
Careful what you wish for or you may just start our riot.
They're all so very mad at you and none of us will buy it—
So just stop.
Stop selling it.
Stop buying it.
Stop stealing it.

You're not cool, don't deny that either—
You just copy what you hear from us,
Just chill and take a breather.

Yes we've got imagination, so who are you to cry?
Just because you're stupid doesn't give you the right to lie.
You hurt her very badly and you've left us all confused.
Why play naive innocent when we know it's all a ruse?

You know he doesn't like you, Red, so why stay in denial?
Pretending we don't exist won't get your anywhere near the aisle.

I hope the huntsman comes along two seconds far too late,
And then I hope he lets you rot; you know you're just dead weight

Your conscience isn't judging you;
It couldn't if it tried.
You've ignored it long enough,
So by now it's pro'lly fried.
Your friends are now the jury
And your trial will decide
Who you really are inside.

Who are you?

I don't know you.

She doesn't know either.

Stop pretending and stealing my bits.

I'm sick of you, Red. Go and feed your grandmother, but leave us the fuck alone.