Thursday, May 10, 2018

THE JERK (Shared by #MyFriend Xeno Hemlock)


By: Xeno Hemlock

What do we call somebody who can't smell
the flowers nor the pollution
any whiff of realization
maybe, yes, he has imagination
just the deluded and clouded kind
because he thinks he's all that
when in reality he isn't all that
and the world can see he's not all that
yet he keeps believing he's all that
and so the cycle never ends
of a life drenched in pretend
yet nobody wants to send
a notice or a warning
to our jester who's still clowning
and licking and sniffing
the innards of his behind
one wonders if he lost his mind
why does he not stop
why does he fap
to the sound of his own voice
can't he tell it's just noise
it's amazing he can still breathe
somebody, take him to Lethe
because his rear reeks
of a pungent chemical
which makes him inimical
and his yapping nonsensical


This poem originally appeared on

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