Eminence Grise

Your words do not affect me anymore:        
I'm out of tenderness, feeling and heart;        
I could not give a stuff; if I'm a whore,        
Don't hold back money due - pay from the start:  
      
Play deep-seated games? You still lack style,        
So sad and wretched, with your bull-like core:      
Your designs are not nuanced; You revile    
Me with ceaseless contempt, I am quite sure    
       
I must vacate your dark dreams: Let ethics form;    
Though they mist up your quaint, outdated thoughts?    
Your dribbling drivel is still not worth a kiss;  
     
Frail eloquence, leaves you a distraught worm;      
But I've no answer, for I've not learned to sort
Eminence that isn't grise: from your cretinous piss.