Writing Wicked Wasted Words, Why?
Because…you’re throwing stones

You’re jealous, thinking of me, can’t stop dwelling on an Angel

Can’t move on with your life, stuck in hell, always anal

You have bleached white brittle hair

You think it will make him care, but you’re quite the scare

Lost your sons long ago

Writing words about them, not for love, only for show

You were an unloving wife to your husband, before his lies

Couldn’t make it in this world divorced, so you begged him with your cries

Wishing you could actually write

Struggling to come up with words day and night

Doesn’t comprehend fine art

But I’m sure you can tell us all about décor from Wal-Mart to Kmart

Greedy, lover of money, you will reap what you have sown

But that’s what kept your fake honey, the reason he came home

Demented creepy brat

With claws like a cat

Your parents paid for everything you own

Always asking momma for a loan

No sense of style, outdated, old looking

Needs to reserve a salon day, so start booking

Looks like a butterball turkey

Face full of makeup, skin dry like jerky

Replacing diamonds, but that's not real love

To get a ring you had to threaten, push and shove

Poser on a bike

Get off of it, go take a hike

Evil beyond your bones

Yet always throwing stones

© D. L. L. February 28 2009