More so than the intent of these intrusive spectators.
These ludicrous attempts of mine to convince.
Yet they seem oblivious to my insight which gives me a slight advantage.
I decided to stop and listen to the sounds of the song that remained unsung.
Why must there be incessant chatter of ancient atrocities followed by the bestial orifice anticipating a rebuttal?
I admit I do believe what they truly crave is some kind of nakedness.
What they ignore is it's present remoteness; It only comes now in stringing my words together in written form, ambiguous at best.
This is not a friendly concern but something else entirely.
This is vulgar and it is stark.
It reeks of putrid ooze leaking from beneath dumpster,
It is the scent of fear.
I want nothing to do with their famine.