I hope Azealia wakes up tomorrow morning suffocating. Tight lungs, dry tongue and lips, watery eyes, saliva running down her face. She chokes for minutes, slapping her hands frantically on her bed and wrapping them around her neck as she suffers for air. I want her to experience the sheer terror for exactly five minutes before regaining her breath. As a reminder of what an utter waste of space she is, I hope she falls down her stairs too, but the rest of her day goes well. Festering in her mind is how she awoke that morning breathless and battered by her staircase.
I hope she falls down her stairs too, but the rest of her day goes well. Festering in her mind is how she awoke that morning breathless and battered by her staircase.
