I don't like you

Like me, like you - there is a difference
over the pretense of common sense.
I don't like you - don't trespass my ports
as my gates are kept by poison Ivy and wormwood...

Loose me at don't and miss a shot
to take another turn somewhere else
to witch day I hunt my own wilds.
The game was fair enough there as...

Don't touch me, as my poetry strips you apart;
making you naked before your minds eye
I like to love others who don't exist suffocating
on my own social injustice conglomerate,
emanating a touch-screen on demand..

Virtual reality is a bitch and it seems to glitch;
as soon I hit the climax, thus I don't like to pay the piper.
Who stole my yellow pages for Assassins Creed;
I have a new mission for them sanctioned by the Pope himself...
Actually it was Pepe le Pew and the other loonies.

I got Axe for you - I mean deodorant, for you smell like Hell.
Oy, quit playing Diablo while I'm assing smart sounds with my
vocal cords, what want to twist your tongue into an oxymoron.
While I twist it around in your ears and stomach...

My phone got no broadband, so I imagined it instead.
It dimed on me to nickle back my alley and hump a white whale.
My dick-jokes there mopping the floor with Charles Dickens
and Wordsworth, contracting a wild disease of rapping my fingers on the table.

An edge-word is sharper than a sword. You may now pass your leftover time to me.
I meat your offered loaf with breadcrumbs and boil your witch into a raised steak.
Eating sand was also fun since kindergarten, especially bullied to do lists!
Watching faint gestures dry on a given face or occupation gives a lot of intel about...

Sad faces never buy and tears never speak the truth, unless its the front of a Mercedes...
the back of a Porsche might agree on this as it hits on a Lamborghini Miura hanging out
with a Ferrari Stestarossa and McLaren P1 standing next to P3 and chanting:
"The power of three shall set us free!" I could swear Halliwell was turning while engraved
into my coke-dream of too many strong double coffees with extra cream and sugar!

It tore me apart to be so ass-smart that wisdom was snorting his milk out of his nostrils
as I walked down the corrupted memory lane. Even Superman didn't save me af;
the Cryptonyte turned pink! What was I meant to do without a Savior and personal Jesus?
Farewell to your dreams and broken bottles burning down a scarecrow shooing away my mares!
The more the merrier as I callously deceive you to vent on my torment what was meant to be

But its not anything but all and nothing. Just the Butt. Jesting the gestures of G-force
in your endorsed enforcement of color-palettes what had no black and white silver-linings.
I followed the bling into the thieves den and got ruled over a stand-up correction facility...
As I stood silently corrected I foreclosed my philosophy into politically frivolous notions...

Nothing sells better than a booby-trap built into a booby-trap fucking a transposed prerogative
what never even existed, but was still expected to leave its impact on the course of his story,
what was never written or given a strain of thought nor contempt to be more than a Unicorn.
Maybe if written in unicode or Unix it would be a thing... You never know these things!