Spastic writing
The most vile of them all is that which induces bile and the crawl.
Legal poison.
Sitting on the razor's edge,
All my bets have been hedged.
Would you drink a bottle of cyanide?
No way, I like being alive!
But are you really alive now?
Or through more denial first to plow?
To your ego take a bow,
Or entertain it like a clown?
Nothing comes of that which strips life.
There is no fun or joy in any of that tripe.
Illusory falsehoods,
Could've's
Would've's
Should've's.
You are great.
But poison is hate.
It degrades
And shames,
Surrounds you with flames
Of its games.
And it doesn't take names.