He asked "What about me?"
What about you?
Yeah what about you I say!
You are the cold ruthless hand of death clutching all you desire with no consequences or fight against it.
Alas you shall always win.
You're born of the winners.
I the losers.
Breed intellagent yes, but not fortunate enough to have the gift of luck or talent.
Luck was handed nicely in your favor, for how can such a bafoon acquire such great needs and still recieve?
I ask for less and nearly die trying to get inches closer to my desire,
Don't you scoff at me I'm no liar!
Your worthless words are a waste of oxygen that could be used to sustain a much more deserving life.
You're a pig for joy,
Joy you can't even comprehend
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