Now, I don’t know what your problem is, and I really don’t care. I thought we were cool, but judging from what I’m hearing around town, you’ve got issues.
It’s okay. I’ll put it down to jealousy. Of what I don’t know, but maybe since you only ever see me out and about, I’m guessing you resent my happiness.
I’m happy, hater. Deal with it. It’s not an insult to you if you see me playing pool at the Keg, or screaming obscenities at the rugby field, or shuffling about in a drunken stupor at Red Bar.
My life has nothing to do with you, hater. Why take it personally if my Mouse gives me the occasional kiss here and there?
Have you ever considered that maybe, just maybe, your unhappiness is your own damn fault? Let’s talk about it, bra.
Listen, you always hang about my group, we all thought you were cool, you were alright, you were down. I’m not under any illusions (anymore) – things aren’t always what they seem.
Love and hate are the twin edges to the knife in every man’s heart. That is a fact. But I really didn’t see this coming, not from you, homie. You had me fooled. Like a magic trick, albeit with less rabbits and more hacksaws.
The art of illusion is grace itself, and you, my friend, showed the utmost confidence. The way you slipped into my circle, hung out with my peoples, said the right things. Like a friend would … or a really cunning enemy.
I can’t imagine what you feel when you see me out here in Harare. Does it hurt, hater?
Is it anger? Rage and unbearable pain, meshing together like twin strands in an ever-tightening noose? Does it choke you, to see me all drunk and smiley and shit?
I hope it does, hater. I hope my happiness becomes the acid that burns through your soul, till there is nothing else but a red mist in your eyes and a rotten dung-heap where you heart used to be.
Maybe, on that day, you’ll realise that it’s not worth it. Going around talking about me behind my back isn’t worth it. Spreading lies about me isn’t worth it. Hating me isn’t worth it.
Do you wanna know why? Because I’m too busy having fun.
Get your own damn life, hater; this one’s taken.
I do envy you one thing, though.
You can kiss my ass.