She's in your face.
You don't realize it until she starts playing games.
Her games, get as much time out of you.
She won't pay for anything.
Her game, get you to buy as much for her as you can.
She is a spider.
Secret is, don't go inside her house.
The law of physics change once you enter.
Jesus statues, portraits of patron Saints, Rosa is only a Christian on paper.
When the shit hits the fan, she'll play the hard done by pensioner.
'I can't let you stay,' she'd say, 'people might start talking.'
You aren't a real Christian.
You are like every other face fucker, only make the sacrifice when it's family.
You abandoned me bitch.
You were in a position to help me.
Instead, you sent me into the wilderness.
You are guilty as sin bitch.
My doctor says to avoid you like the plague.
'Are you sure,' she says and raises her eyebrows.
For a senile bitch, you have all the right answers.
All Rosa needs now is a heart attack, which would give her dementia credentials.
She'd talk less.
And mutter more.
As it is now, her tits hang down to the ground.
And she runs backward and forward in her house, putting away her husband's liquor from thirty years ago.
Did she kill Peter?
I'm starting to think so.
She killed her husband.
It would make perfect sense.
She's hiding things.
Her room is becoming her sealed coffin.
She already knows how she is going to die.
'I'm a fucking inferno!!!'
Burn baby burn, like a mother fucker.
