Spite

 

Kicked in the charisma and punched in the faith

Licked and sinking dismally, scrunching up my face

Bygones for perspective offer scant consoling

I try on some invectives and then the rant gets rolling:

I will no longer be polite.  From now on I’ll ignore a

World that thinks it’s got the right to tap dance on my aura

Go ahead, honk your horn.  I don’t mind the rain

In fact I have just now foresworn regarding any pain

I’ve found the bliss in blisters, the raise within abrasion

I’ve solved the mystic mysteries, yeah, I made this situation

I caught this chill, I had to sneeze, mea culpa I’m confessing

So now I’m ill, what next, oh geez, and where’s my goddamn blessing?

I offered heart, I offered soul, I offered aspiration

But all I got to fill my bowl was creamed exasperation

They don’t like my brand of charm?  They’d rather I not linger?

Well I’ll not offer hand nor arm, but here’s my middle finger.