You worried about people thinking that you're ridiculous
But the ridicule that dropped from your lips stained your
Best dress shirt with a jagged pool of yellowing hate
Sneering, you wondered why people would turn on you
It was them, of course, not your stained shirt, not the bitter
Spell bubbling away in the cauldron of your soul
So what is to be done? Where do you go with all the seething
Mockery that wants to boil over and cover the stove in a sticky
Syrup of jeers that you once thought built the body of your
Existence?
Would you be offended if I say repulsion is the feeling I get when I read this one?
ReplyDeleteNope: that's the idea.
ReplyDeletethat last stanza is a killer.
ReplyDelete