HOUR 7

THE BUFFOON

Every time I see him, I writhe from within.

More so, than the chill I get from disappearing glaciers.

He is a no man, a figment of his own manipulation.

A wart of a human being that entangles his prey in a twitter of lies.

 

I must admit, first I laugh at his preposterous ideas.

But then, heat creeps into my capillaries and I’m on fire!

I aim my thumb and index finger at the over sized screen.

I want to blow the damn TV out of the house and into the woods.

 

Vile spews from the mouth of the ignorant man that stands before me.

“Wa, wa, wa did I say. I didn’t say that! The media lies.”

 

Nothing riles me more than a liar. Oh yes there is one thing…

a bad liar. The kind that weaves lies, like a spinner on a wheel,

who then rips it out, only because someone found his mistake.

A mistake that otherwise would unravel after the purchase is made.

 

I sense a game is played in the mind of a moron who feels he is better,

Better than ANYONE.

Only a fool or delusional chihuahua feels he is bigger and smarter than the rest of us.

What a joke. what a shame when the mind is smaller than the rage.

 

I am stuck in my domain without power or resource, so I coil when I hear his name.

I do not mean to offend, nor do I mean to pretend that I have a solution.

I’m frightened by thoughts of retribution.

I crave peaceful revolution.

 

 

 

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