Higher Ground.

The chaos of my carcinogen filled past crystallizes in my already callous heart, creating numbness inside of me replacing the reasons why I was ever compelled or consoled by others' art.  Agonized by apathy, fairweather friends quickly become foes to me, as I am assaulted by their animosity, how could I  be so naive as to assume that they were ever good for me?  I am not a sacred saint nor am I a spiteful sinner, yet I am surely self-aware enough to see that out of these soulless sods I am a winner.  Waging wars against me with words that they can barely spell or pronounce, we will have to wait to see who is laughing in the end when they are renounced.  Robotic little creatures attempting to be worthy wolves though they are really just sad little sheep bestowed with the lowest quality of wool.  Loyal to no one, these lice would sell their own mothers for a pity of a price, unaware of the benefits to be reaped from compromise or sacrifice.  I disassociate myself from you demons with the utmost distate and disdain, die in the streets devoid of dignity then get devoured by acid rain.  You will taste my wrath when success leaves me rich enough to purchase then resell you insipid whores, you will know my vengeance when you come begging for mercy at my door.  The love and compassion that I felt for you have ceased to exist forevermore, strangers now, you have lost that unconditionally, love don't live here anymore.  Celebrate your greatest loss with the sycophants that you get stupid with and say a silent prayer for your salvation as you remain oblivious to your spirits that will end up suffering.  I win though victory was the last thing that I sought, instead of maligning my character you should have thought before surrendering to the battle that should never have been fought.  With my hands washed clean of you, I am now immune to the disease that the likes of you carry around, lost when we were acquainted but found now that I have finally reached my higher ground.