Never before have I met a person as conceited as God. Though that may be a lie, since I have met you.
Self-righteous lines spewed in the guise of innocence. A poor attempt at being noble when the actions behind them are shrouded in conceit and arrogance.
It is the epitome of setting someone’s house on fire, only to put it out hours later, and—after the rubble is but ash and framework nonexistent—prompt the victim to say, “Thank you.”
It is starting a fight by deliberately instigating one, by throwing around fighting words, and when the first punch is thrown—by someone other than you—getting offended that they dare cross you.
It is throwing a person once called “friend” under the bus the second you realize they do not bow to you—that they are not owned by, employed by, or predestined to follow, you.
It is calling in a sniper to take them out as they battle on enemy territory in your name, and you pray the sniper won’t miss—since your target also knows their way around a gun.
I lie in wait for the day wherein your pretty, pompous face is in my crosshairs.
In four meager hours, I’m in your crosshairs once more.
Paytan Douglas 
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