status quo

look at us go
to and fro
diving so low
buried in snow
doubts in tow
no intention to grow
so we bend like a bow
to avoid the glow
and wait for the crow
we reap what we sew
because we don’t know
we’re our own John Doe

The Marvelous Equivocator

There is seemingly no end to your ignominy.
Not a salacious lane you’d think twice about cutting into.
No virtue honest enough for you to uphold.

Because it’s less demanding for you to tread on splintered ground.
There’s such convenience in how you predate on these torpid carcasses.
Because you are fucking swine.

The epitome of perjury in the court of integrity.
The embodiment of all that is lecherous.
The paragon to which all the rotten can adore.

Relish in that spurious esteem.
Let it pervade into your delirium.
Because there is, indeed, an end looming.

And when the final frame fades to black, all you’ll have remaining is a credit roll soiled in the shame left of the murder.