Unclean



He wrings his filthy hands together,
Light shining off his shaven head
Walking talking hypocrisy
His self respect is dead

He would have made the funeral
He was too busy with his schemes
No fire inside, his lust has died
But just below the evil gleams

Coiled like a cobra, he takes his time
The striking moment must be right
He'll bed her though she's wedded
Then hate himself all night

Misery loves his company
He thrives on seething sin
Won't take the blame, nor try to tame
The hungry beast within

Remorse is just a lever
And love a means to trade
The affections of another
Help him hide mistakes he's made

There is no peace for this one
Revelling in his agony
He claws dirt into his own grave
Crying, "Pity, pity me."




Poetry by Purple Phoenix
Read 618 times
Written on 2010-06-01 at 12:34

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Stan Cooper The PoetBay support member heart!
Gee Purp...loved your poem and hope you weren't talking
about me

xxx Stan
2010-09-05


Reilley
Been a long time since I was here, and this is the first piece I found.

Wow. loved it. Great imagery, really evocative.
2010-07-13