Clown.

I will do what ever it takes to shake you off and make my way to the top. I'll step on your fingers, stand on your back, use and abuse you until you can no longer take my massive attack. I am no longer able to be fake or phony and feign ignorance as if I do not realize that you are far below me. I will always find others that can be more loyal, you were only good for me when I needed you, the milk to my oil but you made the wrong move, and now any chances of us rekindling are spoiled. My path to success will be lined with the blood, sweat and tears of my peers who did not hesitate or think twice before acting weird and not as wise as intelligent as appeared. In arrears, I will display your fears before you, lay them out straight on your front lawn and show you that you doubted me, then kicked me when I was down. That you are troubled now, and are far more entertaining than any common circus clown. From Pierrot to Bozo, Pennywise or Krusty, your jokes are starting to fail to amuse, your talent's starting to get rusty. You are a one trick pony, the old dog that could not learn new tricks, so go to sleep now, rest your head down, it is time for you to get fixed. I have had my fair share of dealing with your audacity, every time you needed me, I was there to no avail, and even still you tried to sass me. Only ended up looking like an ass, you court jester fool, just a word of advice for the future, put away your phone and pick up a book and get schooled, or at the very least learn the rules before you try to play games in which you are untrained. Missiles, shrapnel, landmines, and atomic bombs became the desert rain songs that were only ever able to keep you calm. Napalm to my gunpowder, your bow and arrows never stood a chance. Success is on the horizon, so sweet that I can taste its virtuous victory on my tongue, as I climb up higher on life's rungs. You can stay stung, I refuse to help you out or pick you up again. No longer privy to your petulance, I am now the only friend I need to mend.