"infantilised" poems
The velvet glove of treachery .
The matriarchs have spoken .
The licenses are handed out .
Each confederate taken their token .
Got on their boots and knuckledusters .
All tooled up for the fight .
Not one of them can look at me .
Cause they attack in the dead of night .
Blindsided by a cowardly clan .
Of narcissistic rage .
All have been infantilised .
And remain that early age .
The women ruling at the top .
So bad they only worsen .
Clever , charming , well educated .
And they masters in coercion .
Hard . Not strong .
Dispassionate , cold and fully flawed.
Disdainful righteous haughty .
Acting as one God .
But if they meet the real one .
They shall be shaking in their shoes .
Ten pounds in a Sunday plate .
And an hour in the pews .
Is not enough to save them .
And their narcissistic clan .
They have tried to ruin me .
A good and honest man .
I moved away . Said nothing .
And I never shall again .
They never did deserve me .
In their demonic like domain .
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 6:03 PM UTC