Don’t push me.
I am close to the edge of the proverbial cliff.
Close to breaking.
Keep your whiny arsed cry baby opinion to yourself,
Before you point your pen at me
The fat fist of punctuation stings like a bitch,
And it’s not me it will be after.
Of your inclination to moan.
Go jump off a cliff.
If you truly fear it,
Why don’t you run from it?
You’re running the wrong way.
Before you open your mouth
Answer me this:
Do you have a literary death wish?
You cannot win this war.
Am I being too opinionated for your liking?
If I am well that’s too bad,
I kind of liked your fish slapped face look.
If you mistakenly cross pens with me again
I wish you luck.
You’ll need it.