no branches, leaves, or twigs just a decaying stump

i never once looked back
never once to sigh
or dance to a vermillion solilquy
how sharp the sycophants tongue
when one dances to nonsense
but i did not
i let you ramble
on and on and on
like church bells rung to the death of the world
and even though they all threw roses
i threw spit
down upon your hurried and harried soul
as if i never knew you
or what your tongue lashed out
concocted
to brainwash the innocents
with big hummle eyes of brown and blue
wishing that you would steer them straight
or at least correctly in a correct direction
you held them close in poisened hands
stinking of rank insecurity
and desperate need for acceptance
that the world would never give you
espeacially not this man
your long forgotten son