You are only as old as you feel.
And, also, somewhat, making a meal,
when fashionable disguises, are, unpalatably real.
An all too familiar; appetite for deception,
or, destruction; boiling down to mutton, dressed as veal.
A diseased droplet of poisonous, septic bile,
will contaminate the entire, antidoted vial.
As the Janus’ faces; wear smiling frowns of guile.
A frothing dribble at, each corner, of their mouths.
Ready to kiss naïveté’s; unknowing, apathetic child.
The cancerous bacon rashers flash their cache of rinds.
Whilst the purveyor, and, punters talk; porky pies.
The subject of the, price of peace, creates porcupines;
of prickly words. That make religion; a sin.
The spieler’s prayers are; devilshly; delivered, sealed, and, signed.
Nightmares of vomit ridden delicatessens;
regurgitating the meek, and, innocent’s; delicate essence.
A force fed; growing up, for the poor, adolescents.
“You can’t miss what you never knew.”
A shallow consolation from maternal lessons.
Bursting guts of gluttonous swine; litter the landscape.
Amid the landfill site where shifty, crooked, hands shake.
Rats, bugs, gadflies, wasps, vermin, and, snakes.
All feasting upon the remnants of the good.
Meanwhile, ‘the future’, confesses sins; for the damned’s sake.
poorman'sdreams 