The daffodils of youth are still smelling putrid.
They have grown beside my plastic, crucified cupid.
I wonder if they want to rot with me in my nest?
An unceasing pain in my pressured chest.


He was underdeveloped for his age.
His parents restrained him within their personal cage.
He was ungratefully nourished by way of container.
His umbilical cord spewed just like a complainer.


He was never washed spotless, or with good measure.
He never acquired, but he still sought pleasure.
‘Eliminate me, please,’ was his final thought.
I have long been prepared for the eternal rot.


There are constant clicks because the tube is feeding.
I hear constant clicks because his organs are bleeding.
Interminably will remain your absence of worth.
I’m providing putrid flowers for your putrid birth.





Copyright © 2015 Kenneth Jarrett Singleton
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