drooling on a strangers bedsheets
lost it where the vegged and dead meet.
felt as though an urge was fed
the blood stains where the guilt was bled...
stargazing with sunken eyes
he sees them act under the guise
of friendship 'til they gag on lies
like frogs on flies, like men with ties
at funerals where liars cry.
take notice of what shouldn't be
and fear for those you cannot see
the arrogant shout "let it be! for who are they if there's no me?
without me there, what's there to see?"
but stand corrected
when they themselves are left neglected
where only wrong can be respected
and guilt bloated conscience is rejected
by vice and advice preselected