Chapter 1 – Base Effrontery

Words make a path to my

Tongue more silent and

Venomous than any sudden

Flood of tears.

Groping.

Violent urges

Curl my fingers into fists.

Death grips me and gnaws

At my pride.

Fervid, I am –

Frustrated.

Strung out across the boundaries

Of utopia

While the diabolical vicar

Cackles.

Must I grovel as you gibe?

My ephemeral folly

Finds me grappling

With infamy.

I find this affinity for evil

Base effrontery.

3 comments to “Chapter 1 – Base Effrontery”
3 comments to “Chapter 1 – Base Effrontery”

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