syndrome

your words taste bitter
how can you spout
such a foul, frothy paste of lies?

your nuances leave

the foul aftertaste

of rancid pistachios

you're only good
for a man without
a sense of smell or taste

your looks wax apathetic
your lack of enthusiasm
drags me down to the dregs

you want me to share
in your taste
for pain, and danger, and death

you know what?
save it.
let it fester.

i hope it engulfs you so
completely
that only your shadow remains.
 

(c) 2003 j baugher