I did not request your passion while nailed to that dead
tree, yet you demand of me a reply. You have given me drink from the milk of
human kindness, but only long after it has outlived its utility. I am allowed
to dine only where my shouldering ashes lie in wait. Bent so far past my
throttle my bruised ego is forever shamed.
My retort falls upon blind ears, your back is turned to me
for to hide your grin. I am not able to see your joy in the demise of your
preferred creation. So on my knees I doth fall, as my tear dashed face begs to
be freed from pain, and dragged to my final doom.
Plagued by scenes of my delightful youth I am made to fight
against the unmolested dead. But even in victory their humor will not be wooed.
My torment is a pleasure you must behold. Your laughter even in thy father’s
judgment remains unshent. I am left to wallow in a nuisance so deep I cannot
trust the hangman’s knot.
-Johnny V.
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