The
feel-good, for-self’s-sake sower of stories?
What
happened to the spiteless fighter of bias, the truthteller?
What
happened to having nothing better to do but to do better?
How
was he replaced by this, his bitter, cynical mimic
Who
would search to scorch, excoriate, scourge from the earth
The
least, littlest fleeting flake of genuine feeling?
Am
I so fast to escape the fate of those whose delight is proved a lie
That
I see the human species as polluters incapable of truth?
Are
my ducts just in denial, or is my heart making bile?
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