Macbeth Low On Meth

And signifying nothing, upon life’s stage meaningless, endless, a cruel war he waged Fretting and strutting, as the curtains narrowed Out, out, foul vegan, who doth hate man’s marrow Comes back for encore, to be mocked, and broken Having found mere hate, vaunting the unspoken A shadowless ghoul behind faint shrills of woe Sans a candle, roams hell’s abattoirs below A dedication of respect on the nihilistic tragedy of Macbeth # # # Bastardised here indeed but more so each day by a bard who flunked all meaning in life # # # Yet has somehow found faith in putrid flesh eating flowers # # No doubt whilst searching for a niche on the last syllable of soybean @urd By David Kavanagh