Untold lies from the 
guilty side, the side you
love to hate.
Berated, despised
precision incised
— your abhorrence 
does dilate.
The garrulous glare
of private war 
that drives you to deride,
to crush and conquer 
[i]persona non grata[/i]
their joy you can’t abide.
To watch them live
to watch them laugh
to witness their extancy
it drives you batty
to see them surviving
despite your acrimony.
You wish you could [i]blink[/i]
and cease their existence
they never were or are
nevermore will they 
make your future tense
never touched by their potent scar.
But all that’s left is to abominate
and find others who let rancor brew
and maybe then you’ll find more to contemn
until that’s all that’s left of you.