Vain Agony

So, you think you’re the only one who has ever loved?
What makes you so special, a stand out?
Is this the part where your face smashes into your empty hands and
You cry?
Where did you hide the rules that you think were broken?
Under your spoiled beliefs, I fear. Your braggadocios centeredness is tiring.

Did you not spout of being a statue? The mighty?
Far be it from simple folk to step on the toes of manicured perfection.
Pearled and precious.
To sully the exactness of you is sinful, I hear tell.
You’re gutsy and snide my friend. And I can’t feel helpless for you anymore.
I have no hand to reach out, nor tunes to warble your fine points.
There is no strength that I possess to coddle your self-professed Achilles’ heel.
That being your good heartedness. Pardon me while I clear my throat ever so violently.

I bounced for you. Rolled and picked.
The tumbling has me snake eyed and I don’t need it any more.
It’s your turn on the ledge. Lucky is superficial and far over rated. Which means the
Sculpture is crumbling. Even bronze turns green, salt dissolves in the rain and ice melts.
According to that puddle lapping at your ankles, you basked in the rays of uncharitable, once too often.
Love is not your problem. Bypassing is.
Running the red light, cutting in line, scalping the show. Denying the own up.
Disdain has its price and dues are owed.
I won’t be the aftermath but I will warmly accept the role of,


By: K. Mulroney

Vain Agony

K. Mulroney

Johnsburg, United States

  • Artist
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