Sycophantic,
word-pedantic
dictionary whore.

Your literary vacuum
leaves me wanting more.

Your spewing words
thick with rot,
from something ill ingested
tie my patience like a knot,
intestines worm infested.

You’re like a stain of afterbirth
stillborn and flushed away,
I’d write a book about you
if I thought that it would pay.

As it is,
you’ve raised my hackles
and forced my angry tongue,
I’d restrained it under shackles
until my hate you idly won.

Please walk into an ocean
a propeller,
or a plague.
If justice had a notion
you’d be renditioned to
The Hague.

© Wolfgar 2018