Book of Face
book of face
I see your quick on that trigger. your words are offers on man's flawed self righteous altar
Of the vanity, and sullied grace of ou
The feeble attempt to sacrifice my ego
arpe too, in vain. I let my ego die inside me
long before you mustered up words to say.
Before you had even half of that smooth brain.
Ah but here you are, on the book of face.
I suggest you reload your magazine,
and make well sure,
those thin skinned fat fingers,
do not tremble and shake.
Because you think those are hollow tips,
You're shooting blanks.
Thinking snarky sarcasm and
signaling virtues in falsity
puts a chink in god's breastplate?
And the devil's laughter,
echoes in the background
at you, the babbling coward.
readying your aim,
behind the safety of a glowing screen.
readying more bullets for fhate.
knowing you will stumble in your ignorance, he sets a clever trap, to snare you.
and I your brother, was just the bait.
I do not claim perfection,
I know my sins and mistakes.
what gave you the sight of god himself, to see my soul and pass judgement,
in his sovereign place?
I know my transgressions,
I am just flesh and blood.
I know my place.
But you put yourself
upon that contrived
pompous pedestall of pretention.
You do NOT know your place.
The pile of feces that corodes your tongue,
You claim that smells like lavender,
and the cracking thin skin on your lips
really as soft as lace.
I know I am no better than those around me.
And my excrement? it smells like waste.
Like the your breath reeks of,
As you type away,
on that book of face.
Copyright © James Moon | Year Posted 2021
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