CRITISIZE ME

How wide your eyes poke at me.
Poke and Prod, Prod and Poke.
Until, my wounded soul cowers,
and retreats,
to the corner of my mind
marked \'Licked Wounds\'

It is there I await restoration
lonely,
waiting for your shadow to drift on,
ready for your next meal.
Satisfied?

How is it right,
that the cloak of superiority,
is made to measure on you?
What secret to life do you hold?
Greed? Envy? Hypocricy?

The sheild that I carry is strong.
A badge of dishonor (perhaps?)
Yet proudly it is displayed,
if not to your taste.

My waters may be stilled,
and true, how deep they run.
So tell me, You,
How does the bitterness of sharp rock feel, after years in your shallow stagnation?

The sparks from my eyes cut just as acidicly as yours,
Only,
Reservation is a friend.
Yet, I am tired,
my patience is receding...

You can stand there gloating,
amidst your many faces,
a vile vessel of hatred you present.
Ugly to the core,

and how I wish to stamp on that ugliness,
to submerge you in your own muddy water of conceit,
to rub your nose in that filth,
make you swallow the bile.

Yet it is not me..
It is not me.