Slippery Pricks and Rotting Roses
The shrinking violet made her way back.
For another round of acidic attacks.
Blaming the sun for her shadows,
the mirror for all her cracks.
The mad queen of monkeys,
leading a gnashing troop.
Tossing stones and madly lashing
While slinging vicious verbal poop....
Driving all the flavor from the soup,
There she sits atop self-pity hill.
Bible in one claw-acid in the krill.
Hopping merrily from kill to kill to kill.
Your hue of loneliness is self-inflicted.
Carefully look back at the paths and weaponry you chose.
A path of slippery pricks and a rotting bouquet of roses.
It's well past time you grew out of and shed that ugly mold.
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