One for the Journal


journal

I look at you with disgust,
Like an old argument that need not be discussed.
Don’t you know boy you’re living in your last days.
I’m glancing down babe urinating on your grave.

Your features are old and dull.
You don’t shine for a cause beneath a skull.
You sit under the shade without effect.
I remembered back then, when you glowed, oh so perfect!

Once you appealed to me.
Your posture and chiseled forearms darling sweet.
Now your belly stands in the way of our hugs.
And the question remains why do I feel smug?

-Pennington©

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