You
Pain you claim to be invisible. A
sacrifice for dead devotion.
Once you thought you knew a right
from wrong
and now
all you know
is how to bring a bottle
to your lips. It’s all slipped in
to oblivion.
You’re worth the wrapping
on the glass. Stuck
with more thought
than you gave the son who served it.
A child of ambivalence. A spawn of
wasted generations.
A seedling raised on a rancid earth.
Yet you look at me expecting an answer. A sweet
and svelte infecting chance to make me
want to guilt myself to hand you all my
wonderful and gratifying choices.
Well, I don’t owe you anything and you
owe me every single hair on your dry and flaky
meat sack.
