Sunday, 6 February 2011

Another Version of the Truth

It would appear that you seem to be aroused
By the sound of your own voice
Narcissism magnified
You really take the prize
And I fluctuate between
And a hatred, a contempt
Your self obsessed entirety
Encapsulates all I feared
You thrive on wreaking misery
With the zeal of a senseless soul
Corroded and malignantly consumed
Like a blackened smoking husk
Sadness engulfs like a treacle tide
Ensnaring like a quicksand whipped
The intrinsic essence that I so crave
Is smashed like jetsam on the rocks
There is no hope where there is no love
There’s no hope where there’s fear
You have dragged us to this grim impasse
Where we crumble into the sands of time…………

Andy Horsman 2010

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