resenting your presence
presenting the essence
of senseless discussion
disgusting percussion

your lips sound like tips
of fingers belonging to hands
that are harmless and armless and
beating this hollow-soul drum
like a homeless old bum
as he sleeps on the street
as he begs at your feet

he cries for a dime or a
slice of your time to fulfill
all the cravings that these
pencil shavings will never
remember dismembered from
something once used to paint
beauty with combinations of letters

now gainfully used by
abused pity pushers
so painfully raised
to be hatefully hazed
and to hopefully find a
reprieve from depression
but nothing will ever get better
 

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