across the binary sphere and scratches at my wounds
not yet healed
I did my best to bury you well, but you have no respect for death
much like you have no respect for life
for my esistence even
Your sickness palpable and rotting from the inside.
You offer only ill wishes and uninvited armchair psychiatric diagnosis
which mirror your own maladies.
You brand me sexist, narcissist; monikers that are more suited for your wearing
You scream for me to get out of my own home
as though you own everything
as though all revolves around your twisted gravitational pull
I have a lunch to reheat in a microwave
I'd rather choke on nutritionally degraded leftovers
than accept your uninvited friend request
