Delusional and Angry …
Enthralled by all his piffling lies,
the stoic indifference he feels,
Embedded and replete his disguise,
In layers of hate that he peels.
Beneath all those layers of hate,
Rests the maligned spark of his soul.
Tribute, his betrayer, his fate,
The qualities that swallow him whole.
Heaven forbid he’d abase his guise
And fracture his weak, pathetic mind
Reboot his database, refocus his eyes,
Step up to the plate and be refined—
Or stay a truculent man of war
Embracing argument just for sake
A rogue, he cried, I’d cherish more,
than any common garter snakes.
An angry man, how I’d credit him,
His opinions worn like shitty grins
DNA of Samaritans??
Belief in that, a deadly sin.
Frustrations fester into rage
doubt and disbelief conjectured.
How ire stems from a specious page,
Words like daggers come together—
Slicing nerves inside the brain,
Mental erosion meeting madness,
Embittered night sweats of disdain,
Plotting, scheming, a vile palace—
The theater, the eye; the screen, the world,
His muscles tense and plasma boils
Meanwhile he spews these fictitious pearls
And talks about his timeless toils.
Iniquitous, a word topped with his clichés
His lexicon as blind as rage
worlds against him, he feels betrayed
He babbles on about his days.
His life a cesspool with floating heads
Each one a nightmare of retention’s blame
Above the water we slowly tread
Oblivious to his campaign.
He enacts judgment with no facts
A fool of intuition’s fatal flaws
His scales unbalanced, not quite exact,
His scorn a fickle landing cause.
His friendships wane at prison’s door,
A fragile life, his sorrows call.
Into the darkness he wages war,
A broken man, unfettered gall.
So blind his eyes to see the truth,
He lives alone with all his pride
The rage has hidden all the proof
Talking to himself, himself he hides.