*****, wobbling Buddha
I think you may have cursed me
With your eyes closed
Picking at a chronic scab
Delicately placing the detritus
Into your mouth
Ha!
You didn't think I saw you do that
Did you?
****** you off
Didn't I?
A wave of the hand, a well-worn expletive
And I'm dismissed

Smoking, hacking gargoyle
Glued to your grimy floor
Staring at me through tight squinted eyes
Damning each and every
Soul you've ever known
Have I been convinced
That I am exactly like you?
Or that you can send me to hell?
I think you may already have

A wave of the hand, a well-worn expletive
I'm down in the hole

But one thing must be said:
You have a wonderful collection of dolls
Every peach pink pucker-lipped face
Stares blindly
Lined up in rows on shelves
In an unused room
Their feet scuffed with black tar
Little silk dresses torn
Or naked
**** plastic
Unashamed toys
Five gates, uncaring
Five doors, barred forever
Heads filled with air

Still they feel more than you
Still they feel more than you
Do