Black Hair, Short Nails

When I speak to you, I laugh and smile;
but you don't know that when I grin,
   It is the thought of seeing the color in your face vanish
   and reappear on the floor
   that makes me happy.

All of your time is spent trying to beat me
and prove how much better you are.
  You should know that I wouldn't care if you died,
  and neither would your family, from the stories
  you foolishly trusted me with telling. (Now everyone knows
                              how sad and pitiful your life is)

I hope you are successful, I hope you do all the drugs
and meet all of your heroes.
   Then you can act as if people like you,
   and pretend you are the happiest woman in the world,
   and I can laugh at how pathetic and blinded you have become.