by Nick Gisburne
Repulsive, but I see the joke. I do.
The body of an angel, but her face...
Imagine, for moment, she is you,
A target of derision, blatant, base.
But such a simple statement steps too far.
Compassion? You will never understand.
Too selfish to consider what you are,
Your mind is too constricted to expand.
Lean closer to a mirror, once or twice.
Is that the pure perfection women seek?
I would not take your place at any price.
Such arrogance is wasted, wanting, weak.
Perhaps I need a moment to explain.
The body filled with butter is your brain.
