Maybe 20 years
if I'm lucky
I'll waste every one
I know I will

Vultures winging lazy, hungry circles
majestic carrion
thinking of dogs
too lazy to chase them way

Maybe it's the poet
on the feeding trend
lifeless, soulless
his broken heart to mend

Apostate
the poet cannot be trusted
he has dealt with lies and half-truths
almost his entire life

He thinks he knows who his friends are
but he doesn't recognize the sound of their laughter
when he's turned away
guffaws, giggles, hateful, evil snark

But he deserves it
madman desire it
your useless, poet,
when your words have no use for you