Everyone at the Dinner Table was Proud

Unpleasant

scrawled across in cursive,

looping about

to wear as a false halo.

This is the pretense to wear

upon clipping your wings

for another leg up.


Deserved it all,

cast it out,

written it off.

No second looks.


Devils prowl for more prey

to sustain the food chain.

More untruths to sell

as a boy’s shove in youth

manifests its implication dangerously

until sprawled across in bold,

flashing all too brightly.

( ❤ Mitch)

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