You have managed

You have managed to ruin my mood,
managed to throw the cat from euphoria,
I understand that you have no money too,
And to my poems you are in fact indifferent.

But I can't grasp, however, only one point:
How it comes that you may call love a product?
Friendship by you to services is transformed,
But there is stiff stuff in the sphere of service.

Mess in your brains, inadequate like a trash.
Well, from the very first words of you it was clear,
But the smell of your shit turned out to be so harsh,
I did not want on weekends to talk "about the fair."

Your answers to my messages were so rude.
And from the blue sky you really threw me down.
Go to hell with "friendship"-delirium:
Friendship is a good? You can’t buy love for money.

Apparently, you are a sheer primitive fool.
You seem to me disgusting and even hateful.
I paid you money, helping with what I could.
But that it didn’t reach is no more my question.

Please make a call yourself so that to solve this question.