Sociopath Community

A cold scurried down porcelain,

Caressing each centimeter of pain,

There’s not enough cloth to cease

The mournful cries and words of his.

Dancing blues at the edge of the world,

So distant so! They drag down his soul,

A’s the cold danced down his face,

Drowning each bit of latent faith.

At the edge of this misty solitude,

Remained his candid gratitude,

For his mate would never see him,

looking so lone, looking so grim.

And the cold hurried down his feet,

Feeling not the vicious cold breeze.

No longer steady feet, weightlessly,

Falling into the depths of the sea.

Thou comest to the forum guised as a bard,

To spread thine emotions whilst thou art on it;

Verily I see thee as naught but a tard,

True poets would use the form of a sonnet.

Thy narcissism compels thee to spew all this trash,

Believing it shall be seen as artistic;

Yea, in the mind of thy paramour Rass,

A verdict of tragic is most realistic.

'Tis possible, like Dexter, tis no fault of thine,

Thou art too ign'rant for thine ign'rance to perceive;

Though lacking of reason, feeling the need to opine,

For the future of man-kind, I verily grieve.

Thou shalt ne'er have sated thy cravings for affection;
So prithee, continue desperately seeking attention.

Roses are red 

Violets are blue 

I want in on this thread 

But I ain't a poet, boo-hoo

What doth we think about the hypocritical girl? With the smile on her face, and the word in her hand.

She preaches real big, and can talk the talk, but when she starts her attention seeking "is-ing", She dost not walk the walk.

The knavish few praise her, thus giving her temporary pride, but when she logs off, she feels dead inside.

It us'd to be real, way back in the day, but at some point she lost it just whence, she cannot say.

So anon all she dost do, Is continue to act, and haply one day, the real will come back.

To stop being a hypocrite, would be to practice what she dost preach, but being a prodigious narc, 'tis easier to just preach.

I'd normally think insults are the result of rejection,

But since none here apply, I think it's projection.

I ask not for praise, nor adulation,

I amuse myself, of others I have no expectation.

Bard of Avon, your rhyming is weak,

And if you think forum gives pride, your outlook is bleak.

Your English is bad and your meters are flawed,

Use of that name is contemptible fraud.

But I'm sorry your thoughts run so emo and sappy,

So I hope this new puppet does make you happy.

whoever 

smelt it

dealt it.

omg you reflected someones projection of how they spotted a gaslighter

you are a genius

Psychobabble does not make you sound smarter. 

Thy fragile ego dost bruise with beauteous blues, quickly deflated, so overrated. On the skin, oh so thin, how they spread.

Fragile egos art selfish, poisonous shellfish, they shout and they roar and they shriek, simmering blazes, singing self praises, in fact incredibly weak.

Indulgent elation of ov'r inflation, importance of self endlessly, delud'd creation of self estimation, drowning in deep vanity.

Bigger than saturn, universe pattern, they fly like the wind but then drop. Easily dented, oft demented, bigger and bigger, then pop.

Thou take forum life so serious, that hath never been mine purpose. So dearest Hyp'r, thou be rest assured, 'tis not I who shalt remain, eternally bored.

Mine dearest Hyp'rcube, the joketh is on thou, may one day thy life's wishes cometh true.