What Are You Crying For or The Baron of Chandler Park

   Why do I keep letting you back in?  I am such a fucking fool for you.  You've made a fool of me, countless times.  Is that what love is?  A bullshit roller coaster of pain and contempt?  Someone once told me, "You've already bought the ticket, you might as well take the ride."  I took the ride; I want off.  I feel like I'm going to vomit. Why do I keep falling for this wolf-in-sheep's clothing routine? A couple of crocodile tears roll down your otherwise robotic face and my vulnerability and emotions are manipulated.  A few well-placed, but phony apologies are uttered and I am supposed to come running back into your arms as if nothing happened.  You think there are no long-term psychological or emotional effects.  You think everything you do, no matter how egregious, will be forgiven as soon as you flash that impish smile.  Your smile is as fake as your teeth.  Also, being a dozen years my senior doesn't exactly lend itself to your attempts at a Peter Pan style boyhood.  You're looking for a mother, not a wife. Certainly not a partner nor an equal.  I don't have a mother's love for you.  No one could be as hopelessly and disgustingly devoted to you as that.  No one else stands a chance.  I'm sorry I'm not going to worship you.  You are not the second coming of Christ.  I don't recognize your status as a supreme deity.  I'm not going to snivel at your over-sized feet.  That's for your sycophantic mother to do.  Let your parents continue their brainwashing.  You'll get to be the dutiful soldier you dreamed of being, after all; the Manchurian Candidate.  "I hope you get the star treatment. You deserve it!" You want a fan, a parishioner, a groupie, not a real woman.  You blew your chances at earning my respect.  Your egomania and your fucked-up family has made you more monster than man.

    You are an ornamental windsock, capable of nothing but flopping back and forth in the breeze.  You're as ineffectual as you are incorrigible. Or maybe you are actually an evil, cruel beast only parading as an ineffectual nebbish. Eh. Maybe that's giving you undue credit.  Just like your mother! I hope all your bullshit was worth it.  I hope it was worth smashing someone elses heart over. I hope it was worth steamrolling our happiness.  I hope it was worth bulldozing a family.  I hope it was worth all the pain you caused.  I would say you have to live with that guilt, but that would necessitate a conscience, which we both know you don't possess.  Keep making your bullshit lists that you'll never adhere to.  Keep writing bullshit letters that no one will take to heart. Except me, your biggest chump.  You lured me in with your oily cons, and quickly began smashing me under your boot heels to keep me in line.  It's kind of hard to forget the past when you current behavior is so reminiscent of it.  You're lack of self-respect is astounding.  It's not surprising you have no respect for me.  Don't you stand for anything?  Don't you care about anything beyond yourself?  You really have no moral fiber, do you?  You're more than pathetic, you are apathetic.

     What kind of fucked up dream is it to want to be known as some great jazz musician, yet the only part you've managed to master is that of the depraved, egomaniacal low-life?  You spent so much time partaking in the seedy nightlife of the music scene that you forgot to write any actual music.  That's showbiz, I guess. Shouldn't being a decent human being come first?  I guess I'm just not big enough of an asshole to be even a mediocre success.  It must suck to have only slept your way to the middle.  Keep blaming drugs and alcohol for all your behavior, so you never have to take even the slightest bantam shred of responsibility.  You should have those miscreants that forced those drugs on you arrested.  I think your unwavering, and true personality, stone-cold sober, is vile, repellent and downright pathological.  Keep miming effort, keep praying you'll become a better person.  It really seems to be working for you.  You are nothing but a sad conman.  You fell into an age-old trap; you started to believe your own hype.  It's not surprising that you have chosen to surround yourself with scumbags.  As a sorry consolation to yourself, you say indignantly, "At least I'm not that bad."  Well, sir, I am here to tell you, you are that bad. You're the worst. You've toyed with someone's love for over three years and the best excuse you have is, "Uh, I didn't mean to."  No one accidentally does something for over three years.  You fancy yourself some sort of pornographic Valentino, but you can barely satisfy one woman, let alone some ridiculous gaggle.  My complex sexual desires are clearly out of your debased, yet amateurish wheelhouse. Prepackaged, manufactured pseudo-sexuality is all your paltry mind can fathom. Monkey see, monkey do mimicry isn't sexuality. Even referring to you as any manner of mammal is giving you too much credit. You and your army of reptilian skanks can go fuck yourselves into oblivion.  Face it, you suck as a person. You are a compulsive and habitual liar, you break every promise you make, and you always put yourself first even when a situation has nothing to do with you.  Your needs are paramount as a reigning god, after all. 
   
     I know you'll never live up to the lies you told me, time and time again.  You've caused me pain after pain.  That's why you are in the highly uncomfortable situation you are in now.  It's lonely at the top, mother fucker! Your ass must hurt from perching on that throne all day. Supreme world problems. Amirite?  No one likes the taste of their own medicine.  It's a bitter pill to swallow, asshole.  Choke on it.  Maybe now you can finally get a sense of the devastation you've caused.  Your actions and lack thereof have fucking consequences.  You are responsible for the dissolving of a marriage and a person.  You wanted to play big shot, how did that turn out for you?  Was marriage everything you dreamed of? Was abusing your wife always part of the plan or just something you thought up on the fly? Where is your diary entry for that?
   
     Don't ever forget how wonderful you are.  And talented and handsome and better than everyone in every way.  And nothing you could ever do could hurt anyone because just to be in your presence is an honor.  Just to be allowed a whiff of your shit; a delight. To be hurt by the likes of a great man such as yourself; simply a treat. To be made to feel meaningless and insignificant by such an unrivaled idol; a holiday. Everyday's a holiday on Primrose Lane with you, honey.

     When you first called yourself the Baron of Chandler Park, I thought you were kidding. But I soon realized, you sincerely, and laughably thought of yourself that way. But now, I get it. I can see it, it's just a minor misspelling that was causing the confusion. You are the Barren of Chandler Park. You are Barren of emotion, you are Barren of kindness, you are Barren of empathy, you are Barren of honesty, you are Barren of intelligence. You are Barren of so many things, but especially Barren of true and romantic love. You haven't any idea what that even means. You certainly are royalty, alright. I mean it. The King! You'll surely go down in the history books as world-class. A world-class asshole. Suck a thousand dicks.