Spry speaks lies, and not for conflict,
It simply feels standard to him.
And all he tries to do is satisfy
Though all he makes are enemies.

But it's not his fault!
Oh no, don't blame him!
He will ****** the truth,
For the truth never was, never can be to him.
He’ll twist every word that comes into your head and create something horrible.
It's just one more reason for him to sigh.

When I talk to him, he doesn't talk back,
I find it ominous, true.
But, I muse, what terror should I find?
Lest the death his continuing whispering should ensue.

I shudder to speak, to even reminisce,
The terrors that he has seen us through,
For if others could share in his endeavor,
Their lives would be shattered, hopeless, and obscene.

I feel so badly for him.
I feel so badly of him.
I’m still glad he’s there.
One more person to be alone with.