Twisted word twister.
Mental sore blister
Swimming in a self-tide-righteousness
Your rough sharp tongue, a knotted fuss
Unto itself. How do you do it? So tall and high
Each time reducing, deducting inconsequential life
With words, words, words, no abuse
Just bruise-pelting those strong ancient forms. Obtuse
At the place where your heart long ago fell loose
Under your presence I am the Devil's child
My little existence causes you to reap wild.
To your tainted lens, I am always half full.
You can pray to the God of perfection until
Alas, He is just a man as well as you or I
One day soon, your long decaying strives
Will manage to burn your angry fires to chars
And lies.
