You know what you are,
With your ignorance and strain,
The miserable stench,
Of all your pain,
Causing a rift making,
A horrid valley,
Created by argument,
And chosen folly,
You stand there like,
A living statue,
Adding no goodness,
To your values,
Clinging onto misery,
Like a comfort blanket,
If you can still feel,
Your head I’ll lamp it!
I hope inside that,
You still live,
Or do you think that,
Your life’s down a sieve,
You dismiss thoughts,
That to you are strange,
Old man to me,
It’s clear, you fear change!
You still decide,
To lay in your bed,
You wannabe corpse,
You want to be dead,
Thus the way you lie
And lay, you’ve chosen to rot,
So from now on,
I will call you “Fleshling Doorstop!”