Acid
Popsicle
Ever seen
the jealous pricks with limited power?
Notice
how they tend to be short and strut and glower?
Little
tin-pot dictators with the personality of a flaccid dick
Inadequate
is in their weak blood – someone married a sister
Suspicious
is their emotion, always slithering
Cheap
crooks that grab a dime here or hundred dollars there
Their
overfed wives and spoiled children
Living in
the bourgeois pit of a suburban cauldron
They feel
so protected and smug
Risking
nothing and clinging to mommy or daddy
Letting
go is trauma even though they’re forty-four
But the
resulting inhibitions and frustrations wreck their core
Obedience
is their greed, the will their only creed
They look
in the mirror and see no reality
For all
their life has been one of convention superficiality
Humorless,
superficial and bland identity
No comments:
Post a Comment