as it deserves to.
The hatred of all your children
will descend on your soul.
Your life of arrogance
will be remembered
only as endless horror.
Your memory will be buried
under a dung heap
and still be hated mysteriously.
Your artificial life
has overwhelmed
the weakened original.
There is nothing
of substance left.
Pissing on you
would be mercy.
Strangling your rotten throat
would be an act of love.
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