I hope when your ego is scraping the ceiling,
And your mirrors grow tired of that smile.
You will choke on the guilt trip denying you feeling,
And drown in seductive style.

May your mascara run at each important moment,
Could you possibly lose all your hair?
For your looks are now really so unimportant,
With your honesty stripped thread-bare.

Would you suffer whilst laughing and cry during passion?
Or you may just  call out the wrong name.
Of your circle of idiots learning their lesson,
Victims of your cheating game.

If ever you fall, can I please then trip over,
The crumpling heap on the floor?
Can I tread on your head till the doctor says "Dead!"
Crush your heart in the nearest door?

If your good health shall falter, your coughing be laboured,
Can I please be the person to be?
The one in this world who will witness and savour,
The moment your breathing will cease.

For in my left hand I will hold the thick pillow,
To stifle your last dying wish.
And your ashes of time will wash out with the wind-blow,
To poison the local fish.

My darling your mind is a world full of lying,
But guess who was fooled in the end?
The one who is best at the art of deceiving,
Can never have been my friend.

Neil Marsden.