Her foul pettiness grows stale upon her once tranquil flesh, now dark, spotted, and rot with malice. She desires only the wretch in those who offer her even a mild slight. Her time better spent giving tutelage to loved ones instead is used to plot libels and ruination on her perceived adversaries. Hatred and revenge are her dearest honors. Those left in her wake understand the flavour of ire’s stiletto deep in their dorsum.
But remember all wounds heal in meter, so displace, and seek the joy in holding dear ones nigh to heart. Progress through transgressions and thrive in the delights that God has bestowed. Do not wallow in self-pity and dislike, for it soon will mar your loneliness with unmanageable stench. Hold fast to the felicitousness in your life and ne’er allow wrath to cloud your soul.
-Johnny V.
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