17 May
And it begins, the great parody follows, violins 
with watery-eyed hyenas 
who never truly cared, 
claiming they were best of friends
who were always "too busy" - 

Now the impostors say, 
"If there's anything at all we can do .."
(I want to soil their face, 
to retch my dying barf on them)

Their false looks are so bloody melancholy- 
Their empty show curls my lips into a sardonic smile. 

Unbearable fakes! Fly from my fading face - you frauds! .. flee!
--or I may foam on you.

The witness of my wasted shell
is well aware that I withdraw while being alone--

Only a mute granite will mark my melting memory.

for my friends and fans:
(If you visit, please leave behind 3 Daffodils 
and a 6-pack of Busch).

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Posted by on May 17, 2021 in Poetry


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