So who’s the real idiot?

These small hands
Slam his skull to the wall
Break the glass
One piece to hurt his nose

Now what would he do?
He’d act still so highly
Not at all feeling doomed
That tounge still delivers shit

So I let his mouth fume
And his stupidity slips through
Those words,
I’d collect them,
keep them,
and shove them back to where they came from

He’d then realize the idiocy
Remember the fire he’s set
to his own dignity
Kneel down and beg for mercy

But then my head is back to reality
And I’m still listening to him
Afraid
Doubting
Can’t do the things my imagination has schemed
So I just smiled and said,
“I know, right? They really are stupid for not recognizing your great talents”

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