Sarcasm

 
slashing occult feelings I rise
in the outer storm fling dispersions
they gather just out of sight
the hecklers

jesters of the horde
fickle creeps of whoredom
riggling with sarcasm
makes me want to orgasm

when fate fucks with me
I fuck it up
it is with interest I seek
metaphors of hate

wiggly little bastards of sin
perputrators of anarchy
singling out the inept
for a hassle

I can't look away
when one is under attack we all are
a gut feeling and it's done
hazing the darkness feels good

no credence is given to the proud
it does no good just to look good
be about the animosity
or be eaten alive for being stupid

the horde awaits anyone falling behind