I hate you.

I want to tear you apart, find your withered heart amid layers and layers of fat, I want to squeeze it dry of blood and chew on it like bubblegum. I want to humiliate you, I want to take a match to your perfectly styled ice, you are worse for your apathy. You do not even know you should not care.

I hate your money you spend like the cheap talk you spew, I hate your high horse and I hate your perfectly manicured hands that cannot do anything that would dirty them. I wish I could burn your money before you, I wish I could escape these blue-suited bodyguards you gave me, not bodyguards at all, but prison wardens to keep me from taking your precious, perfect empire.

I want to scream at you. I am your son. I am your son. I AM YOUR SON!

I want to ask you what the whore's mouth tasted like, and what my mother's eyes looked like, cold and dead. I want to shred you into little pieces and scatter you, so you may never rest in the Hell you deserve. I want you to stay in the Hell you created.

I wish for you to burn, burn, burn.

I wish for your empire, beautiful and perfectly constructed so as not to show the cockroaches and jizz keeping it together. You rule with money, that is your mistake. I do not rule at all. That is mine.

I will ice myself over in a way you aspire to. I will become a playboy, pretty boy, I will learn to sip martinis, to kiss appropriate women, while I learn to shoot. While I learn to destroy. I will teach myself how to dance, and how to fight. I will learn the proper placement of ones hands on ones lover, while I learn the proper way to place fear in other heart. You will never see me coming, you dirty, fool man. You will never find out who's hand lit the match that melted your life. You will not recognize the breath that topples your house of cards, and you will not understand the hands that rebuild it.

I will teach you the meaning of hostile takeover.