Go ahead, Yeah, that’s it. Look at me like that, See if I care. A quiet laugh, As I shrug you off, Like flakes of snow, Fallen on my jacket. I don’t give a fuck, Look at me. Into my eyes, And realize that. Curse at me, Call me a name, Yeah, just like that. Ha, you’re great when you’re angry. Does it annoy you, That I stand here chuckling, On your behalf, Because I find you funny. If only I could care less, I probably would. Does that bother you too? Alright, I’ll keep goin’. Oh no! Don’t flip me the bird! I’m shaking. Sarcasm is wonderful. What does the middle finger mean anyway? Your face is a nice shade of red, The vein in your forehead is amazing, Is that smoke, Coming out of your ears? What!?! Do you think, That I think, That I could be tough? No. Tough has nothing to do with it, Nothing at all. I am not tough. I still will laugh last, Every measure will be taken, To ensure it, Oh yes. You’re a big fellow, Bigger than I, My crap doesn’t need to be kicked hard, For it to come out. B...
This is the archive of previous writings of the Opiated Sherpa. It's mostly poetry that dates back to 1997, back when I was a sapling of 16. And then since then... this.