Looking Machine Poem by neo riddick

That's what I call the ones like you
That's sick. So disgusting. How can she? Why would she?
All those demonic tattoo's up and down her arms. A pentagram displayed as a portrait on her entire back. How did a lady like this even come to be?
The strength one can draw from the negativities from other's is wonderfully sadistic. So artistic. I would have it no other way.
This is me. Every tattoo is a permanent representation of my own trials, troubles, struggles, and memories. Proudly I wear them through this life. And proudly I will wear them through many more.
Stare. Say what you may. Hate me from afar. Despise me up close. So mechanical in all your ways.
PLEASE. For the sake of utter hate.
Get a Life.
Being a Looking Machine for life is a truly Pathetic fate