Wretched Scalawags

People can be like maggots,

Crawling all over you,

Eating the remnants

Of whatever you produce,

To try and make you something

They feel you should be,

Critical of every move,

Jealous of every accomplishment,

Exhausted from their lack,

Wanting to be a friend,

Lusting to be a lover,

Eroding your energy field,

And filling you with empty praise,

To satisfy their gluttonous,

Insatiable desire

For something more,

And what is more?

More than what?

Less than who?

And why is it important?

I don’t get life right now,

I just don’t get some people,

I think it must be age.

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