slime-spawn

A whelp, curious once,

struck with awe at world’s grand delight

vibrant, willful, oaf-dunce

but strength soon failed, off and took flight,

fool’s lost dreams of grandeur.

Left, there was but a shell,

an ugly, cracked, hideous kind

sunk in self-flourished hell,

soon to hate that wrong-twisted mind

wanting for erasure.

Scrambling for life’s meaning,

find but a product of love-fail,

grotesque thing most obscene,

reeked venom so none could avail,

pining for pitch-abyss.