You.
You are the dung beneath horses' feet.
You cause people to stumble.
You cause them to slide and fall into the dwelling place of Lot's wife.
You'd be better off to exist as a pillar of salt.
Why don't you practice what you teach for God's sake, literally?
You are the mongrel that my grandmother warns me of when she says "if you lie with dogs, you get fleas."
Flies love dung.
Maybe you are a fly. A female fly.
You lay your eggs everywhere. Any chance you get.
Your regurgitation becomes you. Helps your face.
Mirrors lie. You are not what you see each morning as you shave.
You were more beautiful as a maggot, wriggling.
I don't understand, but maybe I am not supposed to.
I once thought you were wise. Resourceful.
I even thought of love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, and faith when I thought of you.
You are the epitome of failure.
You ruin your testimony.